


Danganronpa: Fictional Reality

by TheHartProject



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, But This One's Got a ~Satchel~, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fan Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Including Another FUCKING TOGAMI, Just Some Teenagers Being Teenagers!!, Major Character Death(s), Major Original Character(s), Minor Romance Elements, More tags to be added, Multi, Murder Mystery, Oh You Crazy Kids!!, Other, POV Original Female Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RPG elements, Some Humor, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 67,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHartProject/pseuds/TheHartProject
Summary: We’re taking it back, everything stolen from us so, so long ago.Trapped within a world that was once not their own, the 65th class of Hope’s Peak Academy plunges into a destiny they never could have foresaw. Under the ever-watchful eye of Monokuma, their bizarre, two-faced Headmaster, they must either bend and break every rule of the societal life they’ve left behind and murder one of their own...or risk everything in a daring escape through a digital landscape fraught with dangers beyond the farthest reaches of their imagination, left to question what makes us, at our core, human, and if that alone is enough to give our lives worth. Who will live? Who will die? And just who 𝘪𝘴 the one who fights to tell our story?"But wait!" you cry, "The 65th class? Impossible! Incomprehensible! You lie, lie, lie!"Ah...that's such a shame to hear.They've already fooled you, too, haven't they?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Genderfluid Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. Hello, Hope's Peak Academy!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for clicking on my work, it's been quite the passion project for me, so every bit of support means more than I can say. Before we jump in, I wanted to make a quick mention of possible triggers. Though the "canon-typical violence" tag gives you a good idea on what to expect, if you have something specific you would like me to mention in the pre-chapter notes (mention of needles, bugs, or anything that would likely go untagged), send in an anonymous message either here or over tumblr (see end of chapter notes) and I will make sure to give you a heads-up! With that out of the way, happy reading!

And to think, it all began so well. Like a fairy tale no one would remember, and only the dead could tell.

Her heart will not fail her. It beats steadily on within her bruised and battered chest as she runs, barely gracing the earth beneath her feet, through the endless summer night. All around her the world howls as if to echo her own grief and misery and the rain falls fast and sharp like bullets, kicking up a spray thick enough to choke on air. Her lungs are ablaze, burning with the only kind of pain she's ever loved. The kind able to reassure her that no matter what has become of her body, no matter how torn and ravaged, ripped down to bones and sinew, her legs still work. She can run. She can fight. She can **_survive_ **. Though her body begs for respite, dragged down by exhaustion and water-logged clothes, she ignores it. If she falters, she slows, if she slows, she dies. It's as simple as its always been.

Branches slick with rain water whip past her and she ducks, dives, and bounds around thorn-laden vines and gnarled tree roots with long practiced ease, finding relief in the ever-thickening undergrowth. **They** couldn't have possibly followed them, not here, deep within the heart of the forest. Their forest. **They** wouldn't dare. Sucking in air, she chances a look behind her, past the hair sticking to her cheeks and the plant life quivering in the wake of her departure, and something in her chest seizes in a new and disturbing way as slices of shadow flash between the trees like the eyes of a sick, tormented beast. **They** followed them.

"Run!" A screech tears past her throat. They hear her. **They** hear her.

Thunder unleashes its fury on the heavens above, drowning out the footsteps that pound against the mud with desperate, reckless abandon (they lost the luxury of watching their feet long, long ago, now stealth has no place among the animalistic terror electrifying their veins). In the chaos she cannot tell what belongs to friend or foe. All she knows is that she is far from leading the pack, that no matter what comfort she finds in having the ones she loves locked safely in her sight, she knows there would be no warning when the faceless mass of cold, grasping hands surge forwards to swallow them whole, only the sensation of a chloroform rag clasped over her mouth.

She wants them to be safe.  
She wants to be their hero.   
But she doesn't want to die.

All at once the ground juts upwards like a broken tooth, and she comes dangerously close to slipping in the muck sucking at her ankles. The hill...how could she have forgotten? She doesn't pause, she doesn't think, she throws herself onto the near-impossibly slippery slope with loose, upturned dirt and rotted leaves and claws her way upwards, nails digging into any purchase she can find as her feet scuff uselessly against the mud. Every muscle in her body screams in agony, but she's long fallen deaf to everything, but the one, foolish voice in the back of her mind. One that whispers promises she wants, no, **_needs_ ** to hear. That they will escape, run far, far away from this hellhole and never look back, a dream that fuels her like nothing else can. Her jaws part with a raw, savage scream of rage, terror, and pure unbridled determination as she digs deep into herself, grasping at something urgent, something primal, and with one last surge of strength hauls her trembling body over the hill's crest just to collapse into the mud.

But she doesn't stop, she refuses. Soaked to the bone and shivering, so hopelessly small within the storm yet stronger than it all, she staggers to her feet with her blood boiling in triumph as it seeps from a dozen shallow wounds. She's won. They've **_won_**. And she can see they've been waiting for her, a dozen silhouettes, warm and familiar against the emptiness of night. Eyes soft with love seek out her own and slowly, softly, her fear begins to melt. She feels invincible, untouchable, as if every beaten, scarred, and time-worn body before her is another slice of a sanctuary she so dearly craves from the very depths of her soul, and all she can do is step forwards, reaching out, slipping into the space only she can fill...

And then it all falls apart.

She never sees the lightning strike. Instead the horrible **_CRACK_ ** of white-hot electricity splintering wood into a million fiery slivers hits her like a gunshot straight through her temple. Time slows, oozing to a sluggish, sticky halt until it's no longer time at all and she can only watch, silent, immobile, as a mass of skeletal shadows crashes through the trees mere inches from the tip of her nose, slicing the clearing clean in two. It's a cherry tree. **_Their_ ** cherry tree.

In a single heartbeat her eyes flutter between butterfly wing petals and long, slender branches, every memory, every laugh, and tear and victory shared among its twisting roots scattering like leaves lost in the wind, drowned in the mud, and as the ground disappears beneath her feet and she finds herself floating freely mid-air she realizes, finally, that this is the end. Her deck is empty. There are no cards left to play. As she spirals into the darkness, her entire world collapsing in upon itself, only one thought rings clear within her mind, vibrant and true even after all this time.

_"At least it was here."_

…  
…   
…   
…

Why am I here?

The sunlight...it’s so much stronger than I remember, and the sky is such a deep, brilliant shade of blue you'd swear you were gazing into the depths of the ocean. Maybe it is, maybe the great, fluffy clouds drifting lazily across the horizon are actually ivory white sandbanks and if I squint, I'll see beautiful crystal fish of every colour of the rainbow darting to and fro beneath a yellow pearl sun. Maybe the cherry petals caught in the breeze and tangling themselves in my hair are coral. And maybe I'm a deep sea diver, an alien making air bubbles and foamy white froth...haha, it’s such a silly thought I can't help, but giggle. It's so calm here, so peaceful. It eases me into existence...wait, what do I mean by that?

Suddenly I'm all too aware of myself, of the silk white hair that bobs around my chin like the sandbank clouds, the soft pink hoodie hanging off my shoulders, and the pleated, silver-grey skirt swishing around my legs. Of my feet planted firmly on the pavement, mindlessly inching me along the path towards... Oh. Hope's Peak. A massive iceberg bobbing upside-down in the ocean blue, an incredible beacon of light or promise, or hope or whatever it is you want to call it that draws me forwards like a moth to a flame.

Step by step I walk towards it with wind-up doll legs I know I'm not in control of. As its shadow embraces me like an old friend I feel myself growing...faint, and my vision dwindles away until it's nothing, but a pinpoint tunnel trained on the entrance doors before me. Even if I can barely see, I need to see those doors. Even if I can barely feel, I need to touch them. Even if I die I...I need to...

Huh?  
This  
This isn't right  
I’m not s►▲po▽ed to 🢨e h🢫△e  
I’↘ 🡘o◄ sup▲🡙▽ed ◄o...

_Loading...Loading_ _  
_ _Loading Complete_ _  
_ _Initiating Program _Hope’s Peak_

And when I awoke, I found myself part of an entirely different world.

"You must be #15? I do believe that makes all of us, yes?"

_...Huh?_

"Finally! We've been waiting here so long my legs have gone numb.”

_Who are you?_

"Relax, she's here! Now we can finally get this board on the slopes! Err, show on the road!"

_Do I...know you?_

It's strange to think about it now, how softly the universe came into existence. Unfolded like a present, popped up like a Jack-in-the-box. My eyes fluttered open and there it was, dynamic and dazzling, but fuzzy, out-of-focus, like an old blanket thrown in the wash one too many times or a memory you can't quite remember. My head swam, swamped with grogginess thick as maple syrup. Why? Why did I feel so...so _new?_ As if I was waking up from a long, deep sleep, maybe for the first time, maybe never having fallen asleep in the first place. Why did I feel, no, why did I **_know_ **that the moment I raised my head I would recognize each and every face staring so intently I could feel their eyes boring into my skin? I didn't understand. I could never understand. I could only wait until my vision sharpened, and a dozen bright, familiar eyes came into focus and finally, the universe made a little more sense.

They've all blurred together now, a Frankenstein's monster of snapshot judgments and features stitched together in every wrong way. Long, silver-tinted hair the colour of spring forget-me-nots tangled in a quiver-full of arrows. A black leather jacket decked out with more buttons than I could count. Skin pale as freshly fallen snow. Piercing ice-blue eyes that seemed to gouge into my very soul. It overwhelmed me. My throat went dry, heart quivering in my chest.

"Hello," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, "It's very nice to meet you all."

I teetered on the verge of fading away, taking one, staggering step into the room before my knees buckled beneath me and I careened head-over-heels towards the gritty, gum-speckled floor. I screwed my eyes shut, braced for a painful and sticky impact. But to my surprise (and eternal luck), right at the last second a pair of wire-like arms shot out to catch me, one hand secured on my arm and the other strong against my shoulder as they eased me back onto my own two feet.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the stranger spoke, their smooth and honey-sweet voice laced with concern, “Here, you should sit until you can regain your bearings. Careful now…”

Without waiting for a response I, admittedly, didn’t have, he ushered me towards a nearby pair of desks and lowered me onto a chair so gently you could have sworn I was some kind of precious artifact he might shatter with one careless slip of the hand. Maybe I was. My head spun, stuffed full of TV static, and I had to dig my fingernails into the cheap, chunky plastic of my chair to keep myself grounded. But slowly, gradually, it faded. I breathed deeply, taking in air and the world all around it. Only then did I realize I was surrounded by a close-knit ring of faces, tall and short, bright and dull, and everything in-between. Gosh...they weren’t very subtle, were they? I opened my mouth, preparing to stutter out a nervous hello. But someone beat me to the punch.

“You seem rather pale,” the kind stranger remarked as he slid into the seat across from me, worry creasing his brow as he ran an eye over my sorry state. But I wasn’t listening, not **_really_** , anyways. I’d finally gotten a good look at him and….well, he certainly caught my attention. He sat with the pose of a businessman, back straight, hands firmly clasped together and laid on the table before him, not a hint of relaxation evident in his body language. Blue eyes twinkled behind a thin-rimmed pair of glasses, and his fluffy, dirty blond hair fell in neat locks around his ears, tickling the very top of his cheek bones. And his face….oh his face, it held such a warm, genuine kindness, I didn’t even know his name and already I trusted him completely. But none of that explained why he was dressed like a starving British orphan from the 1800s.

Thinking of it now, he must’ve been completely burning up! A thick woolen blazer swamped his scrawny frame, faded cerulean in colour with faint white-and-red checkers. Its sleeves ended in neatly folded cuffs, buttons shining like beady animal eyes, and not a single crease marred the fabric’s marble smooth surface. It couldn’t have been old, maybe even bought that day. Below it sat a fuzzy, navy blue sweater vest buttoned-up all the way to the sharp “V” neck showing off a white-collared shirt snuggled up underneath like a child swaddled in blankets. His pants were coal black. His woolly cap matched his blazer perfectly, as if they were cut from the same cloth, and a brown leather satchel swung from his shoulder. I knew I was staring. I knew he knew I was staring, but I could hardly tear my eyes away (what’s that old saying about not being able to look away from a trainwreck? Or is that too mean?). 

“Err, sorry! I didn't mean to come off as rude!” he quickly chimed in, stricken at the very thought, “I’m simply worried about your well-being.”

I shook my head in the hopes of reassuring him. “Don’t worry about it, that’s just my natural complexion, I think. Oh, and thank you for the help! It’s just my luck you’d come to my rescue, Byakuya!” My mouth snapped shut as soon as the words fell from my mouth. Huh? I’d never met this boy before, where did that name come from?

But if he found my unexplained knowledge odd he sure didn’t show any sign of it. In fact he chuckled lightly, as if he found me amusing. “It is good to see you are in high spirits. Hopefully that was nothing more than a fluke, excitement even. This **_is_ ** a momentous day for us all. Ah, but where are my manners?” With a pleasant smile he offered his hand to me. “My name is Byakuya Togami. I look forward to working-I mean- ** _studying alongside_ **you over the duration of our school life.”

Byakuya?  
Huh...maybe I’m psychic.

I returned his smile, though strained at the edges, and began to reach for his hand….only for a snort smeared with so much scorn and barely-restrained derision I recoiled on instinct to pop our little bubble like a thumb tack to a balloon. Byakuya’s expression darkened as his eyes fell to something just over my shoulder, and (against any better judgment), I twisted right around in my seat for a little sneak peek.. 

Big mistake.

It took only a heartbeat to meet the dark, stormy eyes of a girl with her hood pulled so low over her head you could only make out a sliver of her face between the wildly curly locks of hot red hair spilling down to her shoulders, her body safely tucked away within a deep indigo jacket splattered with paint stains of every colour imaginable. Art supplies stuck out from her pocket like spikes, pens, pencil crayons, capless markers, and even paint brushes dipped in colour, close to dripping on the floor. Strangely enough though, her shirt, beige with three thin silver stripes running along the chest, was completely spared, not to mention the pristine necklace decked with a dozen or so odd charms that hung just below her collarbone. Not that the rest of her was so lucky. Her knee-length, champaign red pants were speckled with not just paint, but sun-baked mud all along its jagged cuffs. I struggled to stifle a grin at the sight of her. She fit the bill of an Ultimate right down to the snobbish curl of her lips. For a moment I was so awe-struck I completely ignored the way she looked down upon (not at) me as if I was little more than an ant to be crushed beneath her heel. 

“Do you have something to say, Ruth?” Byakuya asked, his voice hardening like molten metal cooled into stone. “There is no point in spending the whole day grumbling. Say what you will, and we’ll take it from there.”

The girl, Ruth, she didn’t say a thing, no sort of rebuttal or cruel remark. Instead she seemed almost...frightened? But anyone in the room could sense the anger boiling just beneath her skin, hear it in the sharp hiss she blew through her teeth like a dragon letting off steam, and see it in the way she roughly tugged her hoodie down until it masked her eyes and tore her head away, ducking down low as if she could make us disappear just by pretending we didn’t exist. And judging by Byakuya’s soft, almost bitter sigh, I’m guessing he wished she could.

“Right then…” shaking his head, he returned his attention to me with a new, curious sheen to his eyes, “Apologies on behalf of Ruth. I am sure she doesn’t mean any harm…”

“Get bent,” Ruth muttered. I pretended not to hear her.

“...now, where were we? Right. You are the fifteenth person to arrive, from what I remember that **_should_ **be all of us. I will see to it that you are properly introduced to everyone later. But for now, maybe we can start by learning your name?” He smiled again, this time with an edge of expectancy. “Odds are it isn’t “Miss”.”

I gave a shuddering laugh at that, still anxious, jittery from nerves. But I was running out of first impressions and had to make this one count, otherwise what kind of Ultimate would I be? I swallowed, hard, so my voice wouldn’t tremble and forced my hands to stop picking at the strings of my hoodie before my unique calling card became fidgeting like I’d been giving an electric shock, mustering the warmest, friendliest, most stick-out-in-your-mind, oh-she-seems-so-kind smile I possibly could.

“My name?” It came out so much quieter than I meant it to. “My name...it's...it’s...”

I couldn’t remember.

Then suddenly, I was spared by a strange, muted rumbling somewhere off in the distance, like the purr of a big cat or a car engine buzzing to life. “ _That must be our teacher!_ ” I thought with a rush of relief, but as the ground began to quiver underfoot and I rattled in my chair like a backwards bobble-head I realized that might not be the case, and my stomach turned sour with fear. Silence fell over the room as everyone grew still as statues, waiting for the tremors to die down with bated breath. After a moment, the earth stilled. We let out one great, unified sigh.

“Thank goodness…” a voice breathed, and I turned to see a girl with her face as white as the pristine lab coat falling from her shoulders down to her unsteady knees place her hand on a nearby desk, visibly unsettled. “Seems it was only a minor earthquake.”

But in a cruel twist of fate the words had barely left her mouth before the earth began to shake violently, uttering a low, ear-shattering roar of agony as if the entire planet was twisting itself inside-out, and shrieks of terror rose up all around me in a crescendo. Instinct kicked in on auto-pilot and, blind to everyone and everything around me I dove under the nearest desk and flattened myself against the floor, eyes screwed shut. But then I made a mistake. I let my eyes pop open. A girl, the one with the lab coat, remained out in the open with her feet super-glued to the floor, and even though my heart felt ready to burst from my chest all the adrenaline served to do was spike my blood with courage and the deep-seated urge to protect. 

“Take cover!” I screamed as I hauled myself to my feet, struggling to keep balanced as the world howled with fury around us. I don’t know if she heard me. All I remember is being engulfed by the sickly sharp scent of formaldehyde as I took her by the hand and lead her beneath one of the nearby desks, I remember never once letting go of her hand, huddling so close to her I could feel strands of her silver hair sticking to my face. I remember being able to feel how she trembled. “It’s ok,” I murmured as I touched my forehead to her shoulder, “We’ll be ok. Just don’t let go.”

She turned to me, her thin glasses askew, her ice-chip eyes wide with terror, her lips pressed in a thin, quivering line. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice forcibly steady like steel refusing to bend and break.

I remember not saying anything.  
I remember not being able to.

An eternity passed before the classroom finally settled into some semblance of peace, shattered and broken, but it was the best I could have asked for. The girl, sparing me little more than a passing glance, took back her hand and crawled out into the open like nothing had ever happened, so without much else to do I trailed after her. It’s funny, almost, mostly strange. How it was only **_after_ **the catastrophe that my knees grew weak, anxiety twisted my stomach in knots, and I needed to fight to stand on my own two feet when only minutes ago I felt sturdy as a redwood tree. It comes in waves, I suppose.

“Is everyone alright?” Byakuya’s voice faltered as he addressed us, like a dove with a crippled wing. Masked with a calm facade he lowered himself into a still-rattling chair, appearing to be every last ounce of calm he was before. He couldn’t fool me though. I could see him shaking. And no amount of false nonchalance could take back the fact he had been just as terrified as the rest of us. “Please, everyone, tell me you’re alright.”

“Puhuhu! If **_that_ **had you shaking in your shoes, you might wanna consider turning back now! Oh, but it might be a liiiiiiiiittle too late for that now!”

That voice.  
That thin, high-pitched voice oozing with thinly veiled malice. 

The temperature of the room dropped dizzyingly fast. The voice was nothing short of a gushing breath of frosty winter wind, swirling around our ankles and seeping deep into uncovered skin, chilling me to the very bone. Automatically, for a reason I still can’t describe, my eyes sought out the silent, ever-watching podium sitting at the very front of the classroom. Sunlight spilled over its gleaming oaken surface like a halo, angelic to the point of suspicion. But on the outside there wasn’t an abnormal thing about it, not a single thing to fear. But then….why was that little voice of intuition nestled in the back of my head screaming for me to get away, to run fast and far and never look back, pretend this day had never even happened? Why, or rather, **_how_ **did a part of me know how hopelessly impossible this was right from the very start?

I looked to Byakuya, hoping to find some reassurance in whatever confidence he managed to scrape up off the floor alongside his trampled wool cap. And to my surprise, what did I find? Him staring right back at me, double-taking when I met his gaze in a strangely shameful sort of way, as if he thought it was something to be ashamed of. My eyes flickered between him and the podium, and when he did not understand my simple symbol I squashed the chattering of my intuition and began creeping forwards with slow, painfully care-staking steps. After a moment or so he followed me, either out of curiosity or some leaderly obligation.

One step, two step, three, then four.  
Clouds smothered the sunbeam.   
A presence winked.   
Byakuya hesitated, still and silent, and I-

“Oh for **_God’s_ **sake! If you two sissies aren’t gonna suck it up and take a risk I’ll do it myself!”

A new voice butted into the conversation, all huff and puff and blowing us clean out of the way as a new girl stormed past us in a blaze of ginger hair and freckle-scorched skin. She struck me speechless. Not with the suddenness of her appearance, but with her bright, firecracker aura and the magnetism surrounding her, as if by not being able to take my eyes off her I was giving her exactly what she wanted. She threw all caution to the wind, pressing her tip-toes up against the podium as she peered right over the top with curious, cat-like eyes. For a moment, I couldn’t help, but feel envious. She stole my thunder!

That feeling evaporated very, very quickly. With a shriek of delight as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard, a blurry black-and-white bundle shot out from behind the podium crying, “BOO!” like a child playing ghost. 

A startled squeak jumped from the girl’s throat, and she reeled backwards so harshly she fell right on her backside in her haste to escape. “Retreat! Retreat!” she cried, scooting backwards as fast as she possibly could until the crowd swallowed her up and she vanished from sight. Goodbye? Should I have started with a hello?

It didn’t matter. In the blink of an eye my attention fixed on the otherworldly object twirling through the air as gracefully as a ballerina, landing with a flourish front-and-center on the podium on two chubby fee….paws? Wonder-struck, my gaze traveled up its rounded, animal-like body sliced perfectly down the center, one side white as snow and the other deep, coal black. Both looked alien compared to the other, as if they were stitched-together halves of two completely different creatures. One’s mouth pursed in a rounded, bear-like snout while the other’s tore upwards in a wickedly sharp grin, one’s eye black and the other’s an oddly shaped slice of crimson, like an open, bleeding wound. In a way, you could almost say it was….cute. But it did nothing to mask the villainous aura clinging to it like a thick, black smog.

“A ....teddy bear?” spoke a soft, air-light voice behind me. 

The creature didn’t take offense. Instead it giggled coldly, on and on and on until it morphed into a long, mocking laughter. “What an original insult! Already showing your true colours, eh? But I am **_so_ **much more than your average cuddly-wuddly bear! I. Am. Monokuma! Your new Headmaster!” It bowed deeply. You could tell it relished every second our eyes were glued to it, drinking in our confusion and fear.

“Monokuma?” a boy shouted, and I looked to see a classmate with wide eyes half-hidden behind choppy silver-grey bangs. His mouth had twisted up in a bewildered frown as he looked the creature up and down, only to drop open in a silly “O” as he lit up with giddy excitement. “Are you a **_supervillain?_** ”

A girl beside him snorted in amusement. “You seem a little **_too_ ** eager about that, mate,” she said in a light Australian accent, “Besides, the name’s **_obviously_ **Russian. Stands out like a shag on a rock.”

“Actually…” the silver-haired girl cut in, “Kuma means bear in Japanese. You should know this. We **_are_ **Japanese. And if I had to guess, I would say “Mono” is short for the english word “monochrome”, meaning in black and white, or varying tones of one colour.” She adjusted her glasses, looking quite proud of herself.

“Yeah, alright, so the bear’s got a fucking word-a-day calendar,” growled a low, gravelly voice, “Still doesn’t explain why our so-called “Headmaster” looks like the lovechild of a Muppet and a puppet from The Dark Crystal.”

I….had no idea what any of them were talking about. Almost mercifully, Monokuma, who had been silent up until then, cleared its throat with a rough robotic buzz to capture our attention once again. “If it’s not too much to ask, could you **_nimrods_ ** so kindly shut your yaps so we can get this tragically boring exposition out of the way? And that includes our patented Hope’s Peak Entrance Ceremony! Wowza! How exciting! Isn’t it just a **_dream_** , mon amie?”

No one spoke. Silence dragged out like something struck by a car, slow, painstaking, difficult to watch, but luckily I could always trust my new classmates to sum up a situation with all the dignity and grace it deserves, if given a moment of two to grease up the gears in their heads. 

“What a shitshow,” said the Australian girl. 

Ginger hummed in agreement. “Ugh, **_tell_** me about it! I’m out of here! Who cares what kind of school this is, they’ve got a lot of nerve thinking they can put someone like **_me_** through a hazing like **_this_** and I’ll just lie down and take it!” With a grumpy “Hmph!” she slung her watermelon wedge purse over her shoulder and marched towards the exit with her chin jutted high in the air, throwing a rather sparse look over her back as if the sight of the rest of us left her a little less than impressed. “ ** _I’m_** getting a sandwich. I grew out of puppet shows years ago, anyways.”

Australia gave a low, throaty chuckle, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she sauntered after Ginger. “You know what? Reckon I’m gonna go ahead and take that as an offer. I’m **_starved_**.” 

“No way! Not without me!” the boy who I could only refer to as “the supervillian guy” chimed in, “We should all go, we can count it as our first class field trip!” A boyish grin lit up his face, even as he glanced towards the bizarre creature. “This is probably just, uh, some kind of drama club reunion special! Yeah! You know how theater kids can be! So let’s bounce!” 

Ginger’s brows furrowed, and she opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, but supervillain guy had pumped himself up with so much energy all bright and fizzling like fireworks he didn’t even blink as he barreled right past her and slammed his open palm against the door…

“Huh?” 

But it was a lie. The door didn’t react, it didn’t give way or even rattle in its frame like old bones because there **_was_ ** no frame, and no door **_to_ **react. Whatever I had stumbled through when I first arrived was gone, poof, vanished into thin air, and in its place the wall stood thick and strong as ever with a 2D handle taunting us like a piece of bait dangled over a drooling dog’s nose. Supervillain boy picked at it, ran his fingernails over what should have been there and simply…wasn’t.

“Hey! What gives?!” his voice rose, high and thin with panic as he pounded his fists against the wall with all the strength and frenzy of a frightened, caged animal, “The door! It’s gone!” He rushed to a nearby window and jammed his fingers against (what should have been) the lift, nails dragging up the wallpaper until his fingertips turned red when he couldn’t accept what he found. Flushed and defeated, he staggered away. “Guys…either I forgot how to open windows again, or something’s seriously wrong.” 

Frowning deeply, Byakuya approached the torn-up wallpaper and ran a gentler, more inquisitive hand over the false window, flinching as he passed over ripped glass and the paper-thin scenery outside. “No...you’re right,” he murmured, “Something here isn’t adding up. And I’ll bet anything it has to do with… **_that_**.” Accusation added a venomous kick to his voice as he pointed towards the creature slumped over on the podium, watching us with a strange sort of gleam in its eye.

“Who, me?” Monokuma purred, “Why would I **_ever_ ** be so cruel to my darling students? **_Especially_ **you! Haven’t you heard? Haven’t you been told a million times before? You fifteen are the future of this country, no, the world itself! The adults have failed us! They’ve crumbled beneath their own hubris! Now, who do you think is left to clean up the mess they’ve made? Who do you think is next in line to inherit a world in ruin? Us! Isn’t the thought enough to burn you up? Isn’t it enough to make you want to run away?” It paused. When it spoke again, its voice was soft. “What would you say if I told you I could make it all go away?”

Byakuya paled. For a second, and only a second, I could have sworn I saw a sparkle in his eye, as if considering what the creature had said. He blinked, and it was gone. “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked, voice hoarse, conviction weakening, “Surely the future isn’t **_that_ **bleak. You...you’re speaking as though the world’s on the verge of total collapse!”

The creature tilted its head, observing the boy with what I could almost call fondness. “Oh, you poor, poor thing!” it crooned, “You’re just as innocent as you were back then! I guess it’s only fair...after all, you have no clue…”

“No clue of what?! If there’s something you’re hiding, I demand you give it up this instant!”

Uh-oh. “Um…. Byakuya? You’re kind of-no-you’re **_literally_ **poking the bear here.” I chewed at my bottom lip, worrying away at the skin until I could taste a bitter tinge of iron on my tongue. This was a trap. And not a subtle one either, but there he went tumbling head over heels with gritted teeth and dagger eyes demanding an answer we might be able to take. And Monokuma, it laughed, bubbling with unrestrained giddiness. He’d given it exactly what it wanted. 

“Is that so? Then I guess I have no choice! Oh, please forgive me for being so vague, you have to understand, the element of surprise is what I live for!” With a skip and a spin, ominous intent dripping from its words, it jumped, clicked its heels, and danced away like a child as the podium slid open and a gleaming, red-tipped lever rose from its depths with a sharp mechanical hiss. Hmm….that’s never really a good sign, is it? “Watch out, kiddos! Watch and never tear your eyes away! It’s as they always say, seeing is believing!”

Trembling with **_bear-_** ly contained excitement, the creature wrenched the lever backwards with such aggression it snapped clean in two, leaving it to stare down at the broken hunk of metal in its paws with wide, unreadable eyes. Were we spared? Or even worse off? I wouldn’t have time to wonder, because in the blink of an eye the ground once again uttered its mournful song and surged upwards as if the school itself was a living, breathing creature waking from a deep slumber. I lost my footing, hit the ground **_hard_ **as pressure built in my chest and stole the air from my lungs. I couldn’t move.

“ _I can’t breath!”_ my mind’s voice cried out in terror. It’s funny, almost, how little everything except for your beating heart matters in a life-or-death state, how the air turned crisp and cold around me and the roof began to split open like the maws of a beast and I couldn’t say I was any the wiser, not with the feeling of an anvil weighing down on my throat. Black spots speckled my vision, blurry and out-of-focus. “ _Is this what it feels like to die? Ah! I jinxed it!”_

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The floor jolted to a break-neck stop and sent me spiraling into the air, floating, suspended in time, weightless until gravity kicked in and I crashed back down to earth. My head connected with the floor as softly as a jackhammer beating against my skull, pain radiating ear-to-ear and trickling down the back of my neck. I gasped, choking on my own lungs. Every needy gulp of air burned as if I’d swallowed arsenic and lit a match on my tongue, burning me up from the inside out. As it turns out, dying isn’t what you should be afraid of. It’s resurrection. 

Moans of anguish rose from all around me as I pushed myself up on my knees, grappling with an almost overwhelming dizziness. But the frosty air pooling around my ankles sobered me up right quick, sent me staggering to my feet to escape it, and as the shadow of the rooftop receded I was left bathed in a pale sunlight devoid of any real warmth. My eyes slammed shut. I’d blame it on a growing headache, but truth be told calling it self-preservation might fit a little better. Like a lonely kid surrounded by imaginary friends, I could only open my eyes to whatever reality laid in front of me when I was ready. And I say that very, very, loosely. I don’t think I ever could have been ready for what I found. 

…Snow?

The classroom walls had vanished, replaced by crystal clear glass curving protectively over our heads like a snowglobe to protect us from the flurries scratching at its surface like tiny pixie claws, dancing within a sky so blue, so clean and cutting it could slice you in half. Distantly, but oh so close, rocky, snow-capped peaks stuck out from the landscape surrounding us like jagged teeth, scraping the sky up above. Rich green pines scattered in the valleys below or dotted the mountain base like a five o’clock shadow. They were a single glimpse of familiarity in a world otherwise so...so **_alien_**. So startling, yet breath-takingly beautiful. But somehow I knew if I narrowed my eyes, peered deeply into this strange new world we’d encountered, I might be able to see the very thread knitting this universe together, and my vision would flood with the same hazy blurriness you’d encounter in a dream.

“Where are we?" someone whimpered, their voice so impossibly small within the wind howling outside, “This isn’t...this can’t be **_real_**.”

“Oh, but it can be. And it is!” Cold as it was already, Monokuma’s voice would always chill me to the very core. You could **_feel_ ** the room holding its breath, hanging off its words and the way it swayed side-to-side with a childlike sense of satisfaction. “Isn’t it just **_gorgeous?_ ** And it’s ours, all ours! Every nook and cranny, every tree, river, hollow, and boulder, everything from the bottom of the lowest valley to the tip of the highest peak, it’s ours, and no one else's. Golly! How incredible is **_that?_ **”

“It’s insane is what it is!” cried Byakuya, clutching his woolly cap to his chest as a cold, clammy sweat broke out along his forehead. “I-If this is some sort of prank, I demand you stop it this instant!” His voice quivered. I watched, feeling a twinge of pity as he licked his lips and swallowed, hard, before pushing onward. “That’s an **_order_**.”

Monokuma only spared him a cheap gasp. “Oh no! I’ve been **_ordered?_ ** By **_the_ ** Byakuya Togami! Hahaha! Watch it, toots, you’re not the one in charge anymore.” Brushing him off with the flick of its wrist, it returned its attention to the swirling, snow-sprinkled winds outside. “I guess I should have known you’d react like this. You might all be **_total_ ** wet blankets, but there’s no one to blame for that, but myself. Oh! Maybe you just need the **_up close and personal treatment_**. But first! We need to get you kiddos all geared up, one can’t embark on a perilous, life-changing adventure empty handed! You know what they say, it’s dangerous to go alone, take this!” 

Sticking its paw behind its back, it rummaged through an invisible knapsack like a cartoon character and brought forth a shower of backpacks seemingly from out of nowhere, as if by magic. My arms shot out to catch one as it sailed towards me. I swayed under its lumpy, uneven weight, listening to whatever sat inside clack together and wondering what exactly the creature meant by a “perilous, life-changing adventure”, which I couldn’t help, but think was a **_scooch_** too over-dramatic for day 1 of high school. What kind of death toll could **_Hope’s Peak_** have?

I ran my thumb over the backpack’s surface, pleasantly soft, almost velveteen, lost in thought until I felt something cold and metallic snap around my wrist like a pair of handcuffs. Looking down, I caught the fleeting image of Monokuma plodding away without so much as a “How do you do?” as it slunk among the rest of my classmates with the same little “gift”, a sleek black-and-white bracelet with a sleeping digital screen. I gave it a soft flick, hoping it’d be enough to power it on. Nothing happened. I shook it. Nada.

“Alrighty then! Let’s get this over with lickety-split!” Monokuma chirped as it bounced back onto the podium, dragging the back of its paw across its forehead as if wiping away invisible beads of sweat. “Phew! How exhausting is **_this?_ ** I guess it’s like writing a book, you gotta let yourself have fun with the juicy bits, otherwise you’ll run out of stamina faster than you can say “unpublished”! So how’s about it? Give a bear a break and pop open those backpacks, eh? There you’ll find what I like to call a “Monopad”, you’ll know it when you see it, promise!”

“Hold on a second!” ginger snapped, “Why should we listen to you? Who died and made you king of the mountaintop?!” She threw out her arms, gesturing broadly to the sheer absurdity surrounding us.

The bear gave a half-hearted shrug. “Eh, that’s too long a story to get into right now. But nevermind that! If the fact that you’re about as lost as a kitten with its head stuck in a toilet paper roll isn’t enough of a motivator, tap into that journalistic sense of curiosity you have such an abundance of! Consider it an inside scoop!”

That…actually worked. Ginger’s face lit up like a lightbulb, and as a shiver of excitement shot up her spine I could’ve sworn her skin spat out sparkles as if she were a cartoon character. In one fluid motion she shrugged the backpack from her shoulders and dove in nose-first, pulling out a long, flat device I couldn’t place a name to for the life of me, and could only compare to a miniature version of the TVs I used to see in passing while window shopping in some up-and-coming store district or other. Maybe I would have thought it odd if I had given it any thought at all. 

Instead the shock to my system left by the… ** _whatever it is_ **you’d want to call it had struck me numb and empty-headed. Dumbly mirroring Ginger I dumped my own knapsack to the ground and fished out a Sylvia-ized version of her device, mine pink as cotton candy and decked out in cloud-shaped stickers and hers white with blue, pencil-thin stripes, almost like the blank pages of a notebook (I would need about three hours to realize this). In the meantime I fumbled with the so-called “Monopad” until my fingertips bumped against a small button raised along its edge, and the screen flooded with a bright, electronic light and chunky text stacked up in a neat column. 

**Rule #1: Leaving school grounds is a perfectly acceptable use of time! So long as you always check in with your Headmaster before departure, you will not be punished. Doing so will temporarily grant you the status of either “Explorer” or “Observer” (See STATUS page for more information). However, failing to notify your Headmaster will result in being given the “Escapee” status, which will lead to the individual being hunted down and returned to the school (mostly) unharmed. They will then be placed in “Lock-Down” until they are deemed fit to leave the school once again.**

**Rule #2: “Nighttime” lasts from 10pm to 7am. Please exercise caution during this time, as all exits will be locked for the entire duration, NO EXCEPTIONS. “Observers” may be given a key. “Explorers” will not.**

**Rule #3: Those with the “Observer” status may only enter areas that have been cleared by an “Explorer”. Breaking this rule will result in the individual being forcibly given the “Explorer” status (Note: if this occurs during nighttime, it is grounds for the revocation of any and all keys).**

**Rule #4: If an “Explorer” has not reached a checkpoint within 24 hours, they will be deemed “Lost”.**

**Rule #5: Violence against Headmaster Monokuma is strictly forbidden. Violence against anything, or anyone, else is encouraged.**

**Rule #6: Destruction of school property is allowed, but any damage that is not inherently life-threatening will not be repaired. Accidental damages may or may not be repaired upon request.**

**Rule #7: Additional regulations may be added when necessary.**

…  
…   
…

...Huh?

Explorer? Observer? **_Lost?_ ** It didn’t make sense. A new, unwelcome feeling stirred in the pit of my stomach, not fear per say, but a deep discomfort, the kind you might feel passing a dentistry with a sore tooth knowing a day would come when you couldn’t stave off the inevitable. Suddenly, I couldn’t make excuses anymore. This wasn’t a prank or a hazing. This was something else entirely.

“Hmmm….maybe I should have started out smaller,” Monokuma hummed, breaking me from my stuptor, “New people, new scenery, new rules, goodness, I’ve risked a total meltdown! And not the fun kind, either! Guess I should get this show up and running, give you kiddos some time to digest these little tidbits before initiating _Phase Two_.”

“Phase two?” I echoed, thinking to myself, “ _How could anything else be more difficult to swallow?”_

“No way!” the supervillain boy snarled through his teeth, pushing past the crowd as he took a threatening step towards Monokuma. He lifted his chin, pounded a curled fist against his chest, and faced off against the creature with his shoulders squared and his eyes burning bright. I was struck by his image. He reminded me of a child soldier, lion-hearted through naivety, never meant to know the face of war. “I might not know what a “Regulation” is or what Timbits have to do with this, but this isn’t funny anymore! Stand back everyone, K.O is gonna knock the stuffing out of this bear!”

With a thunderous battle-cry he surged forwards, pulling back his fist for a powerful punching attack! Our captor, however, must’ve seen it coming from a mile away, because without batting an eye it sidestepped the boy’s charge so he blundered haplessly by, snatching the end of his hot-red scarf as he went, and in a speedy black-white-and-red blur (I feel like there’s a joke to be made there), it spun around poor, luckless “K.O” until he was wrapped up in his scarf like sushi in a piece of seaweed. Satisfied, Monokuma threw him to the floor and gave him a hearty kick, sending him rolling towards us with a scream of indignation. I made a mental note to check in on him later as I jumped over him like a log. “ _Sorry!”_

“Ah, youth,” it tittered like some wise elder, full of knowledge unobtainable to the likes of us. “It’s the perfect time to be so stupidly reckless adults will wonder how you lived to see your twenties! I mean, it’s not like the decisions you make at this tender age will have a lasting impact on your life for years to come, right? Of course not! You should all take K.O’s example! Get out there and live your wildest lives, free of fear for tomorrow! Aw shucks, I get so...so **_preachy_ **when I’m emotional!” A handkerchief materialized in its paws, and it dabbed at its bone-dry eyes in a way I found very...very ominous. “I just have to do it, I have to let you go! But oh, parting is such sweet sorrow! Until we meet again, my-!”

“Wait!” Byakuya’s authoritative tone cut through the creature’s words, his eyes steely though he still clutched his cap like a lifeline, “I demand you tell us who you are and what you want with us!”

Monokuma merely shrugged. “Sorry, kiddo, but telling you that would spoil all the fun we’re about to have! We can start right now if you’d like!” It raised its head, and I swore its twisted smile grew even wider as it waved us farewell. “I promise you now, historians will make legends of us all, and this day will be immortalized for as long as civilization stands! But not as the beginning. No, my dearest friends, we’re already **_halfway there!_** ”

It jumped.  
It clicked its heels.   
I fell.

The ground beneath my feet vanished in a puff of smoke, but before I could even register the sensation of falling, my spine struck something cool and metallic, something that swept me away deep, deep into darkness within the bowls of Hope’s Peak Academy. A slide? A slide! It curved, guiding me into a dizzying downwards spiral as all around me, lights exploded with color and cherry reds and plastic yellows flew by in a blur like stripes on a silly straw. It was captivating, hypnotic even. Drowning in the thrill and terror of it all with the wind ripping through my hair, I didn’t even notice as the slide grew steeper and steeper until I was caught in a total freefall.

Falling….

Falling….

Falling….

  
  
Please Enter a Name to Continue   
…   
Huh?   
My...my name?   
What is it again?   
…   
…   
Wait   
My name   
It’s   
Sylvia   
My name is Sylvia   
_I am Sylvia Hart!_ _  
_ …   
…   
…


	2. Press Start to Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost in the depths of a twisted version of Hope's Peak, Sylvia Hart will find her patience, her resilience, and her ability to handle blunt force trauma tested as she teams up with a surely classmate to seek out the students hidden away within the school's many classrooms and corridors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Trigger Warnings: N/A

When I awoke, the first thing I remember is feeling a great shift in the world.

It was as if while I slept, the universe had folded in on itself, every galaxy, every million upon million of stars twinkling evanescently in the depths of space winking out of existence in one final, silent sleep, just to revive itself, springing up into a new, unfamiliar form where everything had changed, and nothing would ever be the same as it had once been. The sunlight draped over my stilled form didn’t come from my star. It came from something else, maybe a little colder, or just a fraction of a different shade of yellow. But warmth was warmth and I decided I’d take it, basking in its glow for just a little while...until another newness came along.

I could sense a presence moving beyond my closed eyelids, hear their feet scuff against the floor and feel the light nudge of a rubber shoe-tip against my ribcage. _“Rude!”_ I thought, lips pursed in an indignant frown, “ _Shake me by the shoulders or something! I’m not some dead frog you found by the riverbank! Guess I’d better show them how alive I really am…”_

But that’s easier said than done, especially after falling from…goodness, I couldn’t even remember. Hesitantly, I cracked open my eyes, wincing at the brightness of our new sun. It bleached the world white as the snow-capped mountains outside and forced everything else to fight through it tooth and nail, colour bleeding into my vision like a slow-rising Polaroid picture. And there, crystal-clear and bright as stars, the first thing I saw was a pair of hickory brown eyes staring deeply into my own. 

“ _It’s you.”_

“Nice of you to drop in,” said the boy (another new classmate!) as he leaned over me, visibly relaxing once he saw I’d regained consciousness. Despite his little joke not a single crack formed in the deep-set frown dug into his lips, and as he ran an eye over me his brows furrowed in an annoyed sort of confusion, as if I’d reminded him of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Need a hand?”

“Um…”

I blanked. Completely and utterly blanked. But you can’t blame me, you’d understand too, if you had been the one to meet that walking contradiction in the shape of a boy. Someone else might have been able to pull off the messy combination of a sharp tongue and silly words, but he couldn’t, awkward and entirely unconvincing as both a bully and a jokester from the second he opened his mouth. 

I ran a quick eye over him, a snap-shot judgement searching for a way to tip the off-kilter scales, but no one part of him seemed to match another! You could call his, err, **_outfit_ **an ensemble, if you were the generous type. He wore a white button-up shirt below a rumpled red chef’s apron that hung loosely off his neck, worn, but unloved, and splattered with half-scrubbed food stains. His black dress pants were held up by a chunky, cinnomen-coloured belt decked out with tiny pouches, ones that held a variety of vials all packed with herbs and spices for on-the-fly work. He even had a miniature chef’s hat, puffed up on his head like a mushroom! His appearance screamed “Chef!” in every sense of the word. 

But beyond that? Sharp eyes edged with suspicion. A jawline tense with gritted teeth. A soft mop of messy black hair, one that curled around his ears, down the back of his neck, and stuck out above his forehead like an overgrown pompadour. Brown skin, much darker brown eyes. It’s...hard to look back, at least without bias. But I think more than anything, more than he intimidated or entruiged me, he sparked a genuine relief that at least I wasn’t alone.

“...Yes please.”

He offered his hand and I took it, noticing how he strained against my weight as he pulled me back onto my feet. “ _The impact must’ve jarred him,_ ” was the obvious train of thought, but as my mind buzzed with dizziness and I wobbled on two unsteady feet, I had to wonder what that meant for myself. I'd fallen so far, hit the ground so hard. If my head ached...did that mean...oh! 

My hands flew to the back of my head in a frenzy, gripping fearfully at...nothing. No, seriously, **_nothing_** , not a crack, bump, dent, or scrape where I should have, for all intents and purposes, busted my skull like a watermelon. As if on-cue, my growing migraine vanished, simply blinked away. My vision sharpened. My attention, too. And I realized for the first time where exactly I was standing.

Hope’s Peak.

...Maybe? At first glance it could certainly pass for the type of classroom such a prestigious school would offer, with immaculately polished desks that gleamed in the sunlight all pointed towards a massive (and I mean massive, I could hardly believe someone had managed to fit it through the door) podium sitting squat in the front-center of the room, and a chalkboard with the words, “WELCOME HOME!” scribbled in multi-coloured chalk propped up on the wall behind it. Clean, but basic. Pleasing to the eye, but altogether forgettable.

But in an off-colour sort of way, the normality of the display only made it more **_abnormal_**. I have to admit, I expected something like, I don’t know, neon pink walls constantly spinning counter-clockwise, or for the room to be upside-down, or even submerged in water! Nothing would have surprised me, except, I suppose, the absence of anything to be surprised about. 

“A **_hem_ **.”

Behind me, the boy cleared his throat in a not-so-subtle reminder he was still waiting to be acknowledged. “Oh, sorry! I guess my mind is elsewhere,” I laughed, a bubbly, perhaps nervous sound as I spun on my heels to face him with an apologetic smile. “Hi there! My name’s Sylvia, what’s yours?”

His expression didn’t shift in the slightest (tough crowd). Instead, his eyes drifted upwards and locked onto something I hadn’t noticed before, a chunky, oddly heavy pin clipping my bangs in place. “Let me guess, Ultimate Lucky Student?”

“Huh? Ultimate what now?” His words didn’t click. Mindlessly, my hand trailed towards the charm tangled up in my hair, flinching as my fingertips traced the familiar outline of four curved leaves and a stump-like stem. A four leaf clover. And suddenly, it all came rushing back in a way it never should have needed too. I was the Ultimate Lucky Student. An Ultimate Lucky Student caught off-guard by her own title, who hadn’t a clue in the world she’d just introduced herself in all the wrong ways. 

“I-I mean...huh! You sure figured that out quickly! Hahaha…” I winced, wishing I could take back every word I’d stuttered out. “ _Pull it together!_ ” my mind’s voice screamed, “ _You’re babbling! This guy’s an_ **_Ultimate_** _, and when it comes to Ultimates, you’ve gotta be_ **_like_ ** _them if you want them to respect you! Just...be cool. Be cool._ ”

“So...a baker, amiright?” 

Oh goodness.

“A baker?” he snorted, rolling his eyes as if the very thought insulted him. “What am I, sixty?”

That took me aback. “Oh, so there’s an age hierarchy in the cooking business now?” I asked, serious enough, to start, but as the opportunity to lighten the mood reared its mighty head, I seized my chance, rolling my shoulders in a way I hoped came off as nonchalant. “Alrighty then. But for what it’s worth, **_I_ **think you sound enough like a cranky old man to qualify for the title.”

He blinked, and the ever-so-slight widening of his eyes might just have been the first time he emoted since I met him. “You wanna take a look in the mirror and say that to me again?” he nodded to my hair, and though his tone remained coarse, amusement flickered across his expression like a koi fish splashing its colour against otherwise murky waters, and betrayed a slim sense of humor. “Look, you can just call me by my regular title. You might as well. Pretty soon, everyone else will be.”

Silence stretched between us, as if I had known his name all along and he only had to wait for me to give up the act. I’d call him pompous if it wasn’t for the way his eyes lit up as I finally sucked up the nerve to break the moment and ask, “...And that would be?”

He didn’t answer right away. “You’ve never heard of me, have you?” he breathed, his voice rich with relief until he caught himself, covering up with a cough and an awkward, “Doesn’t matter. The name’s Francis McCullin, and I’m the Ultimate Chef.” With his excitement having vanished, he offered only the briefest, most impersonal of nods before stowing his hands in his pockets as he cast a nervous glance towards the classroom door.

“That’s neat!” I replied, swallowing back the urge to dig deeper into whatever had sparked such a genuine sense of joy. Given our situation, I thought it safe to assume we had all the time in the world. “Chef sounds more professional, anyways. And seeing how totally high-class and sophisticated you are, I bet you’re the perfect one to ask about all of **_this_**.” I spread my arms wide as I gestured to both the classroom and the window sitting beside us, revealing a slice of the beautifully bizarre landscape overtaking our new world. “What would you call it? Atmosphere? Ambiance?”

Rather than offer a legitimate answer, or even try to play along, Francis instead decided to regard me as if I’d grown a second head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? If we’re going to be stuck here, we might as well learn to appreciate how pretty it is! What’s there for us to do, otherwise?” I grinned, knowing full well what the second option was.

" _It doesn’t make sense! None of this makes_ **_any_ ** _sense! How did we get here? Where_ **_is_ ** _here? It’s like magic, or a dream, or some kind of trick...but it’s here, it’s_ **_real_** _. It’s real. It’s all real. Why? Why us? Why me?_ **_Why?_ **"

“...Maybe we should get moving. Oh! But first, we should probably check out our backpacks. Hopefully there’s something in them that can help us out!” Ignoring the borderline crushing sense of anxiety churning deep in the pit of my stomach, I sought out the backpack lying crumpled on the classroom floor and, rather haphazardly, flipped it upside-down...only for a soft, cottony bundle to bounce against the ground, leaving me to stare down at a pile of...me? 

Sure enough, attached to an oversized silver keychain were a dozen or so plush Sylvias detailed to match me right down to the crinkle in my nose, and even though their beady button eyes and felt-tipped smiles were empty, in a way, I could’ve sworn they were **_mocking_ **me. Even worse was the feeling of Francis’ eyes boring deep into the back of my neck, and as a notebook fell from the bag and smacked open-paged against the tile, the awkwardness between us became almost unbearable.

“Um…I can explain,” I said, despite the fact that I 100% could not explain.

Luckily for me, Francis could not **_possibly_ **care less. Less luckily, though, when I looked up to him with a half-cocked grin of embarrassment, all I saw was his back disappearing out the door, apparently content to ditch his backpack...and me.

“Hey! Wait up!” I called after him, scrambling to my feet as I chased after the only companion I had in that twisted caricature of a school. “We should go together! Safety in numbers and all!”

He paused. He did not turn to face me. I struggled to get a proper read on him, left to grasp at the shadows of passing hints found in the twitch of his shoulders or slump in his spine, his body a wall of uncaring coldness...but there was more. I **_knew_ **it. And if there was one, concrete truth I could hold onto, I knew it was that I could trust my intuition with everything I had. He wasn’t careless. He wasn’t empty.

He was lonely.

“Look, you seem nice and all, but I’m going to have to pass on the offer.” He spoke in a voice somehow both gruff and soft, like sandpaper rubbed raw. Tossing one last wave over his shoulder he began to walk away, leaving me alone within the irregular regular classroom. I watched (part of me wondering when he’d realize we were headed in the same direction), as he set off on his own...slowing...eventually stopping. He shifted uncomfortably, hopping foot-to-foot as if he was walking bare-foot on hot sand, sneaking a glance over his shoulder just to snap his head back around when he met my eyes. Boy, he was a regular circus act, that one.

“Damn it,” he hissed, just loud enough for me to hear. “You know…I’d kind of feel like an asshole if you went and got yourself killed off because you were an easy target.”

“...Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” A moment passed before he spoke again, refusing to flinch as he cast me one final look. “So are you coming or what?”

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I gasped audibly. “Wait, really? I mean, yeah, of course!”

With a grin so wide my cheeks ached, I jogged up to meet him, falling into step at his side in a smooth, comfortable pace I thought I could get very used to. What a relief it was to have someone by my side, to not have to travel alone through the deathly silence of the hallway unfolding before us. But even with the liveliness of our shoes click-clacking against the tile floor, the air felt heavy with an unnerving aura. It was reminiscent of a photo just **_slightly_ **off, the quality, the lighting, something so itty-bitty you couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of your unease, but it remained all the same. A real heebie-jeebies magnet. 

“We’ll be a great team!” I chirped, smiling up at my new companion. 

He snickered. “Yeah, sure. I bet we’ll mix about as well as cinnamon and fennel.”

“I don’t really know what that means, but for the sake of our budding friendship I’m going to assume they mix wonderfully together!”

I skipped on ahead before he could shoot back any more unnecessary sarcasm, drinking in the sights and sounds of the sun-drenched hallway (no matter how unsettling, there had to be some semblance of beauty in a place so fantastical). Pale sunlight spilled in from the expansive window running alongside us, and as I peered through it, I could see a box-shaped courtyard covered with unspoiled, milky white snow and pine trees decked out with needles sharp as thumbtacks. No signs of life graced the miniature forest, not even a single, quivering branch. Eerie…

But not as eerie as the shrill, silence-shattering scream that pierced the very air around us.  
Begging.   
Desperate.   
As if someone was…

“Shit,” Francis growled, backpedaling away with such haste he nearly tripped up over his own two feet. His eyes bored into the suspected source, another ordinary, completely unremarkable classroom door, with a frightened intensity, every muscle braced for an all-out sprint in the opposite direction. “I don’t like the sound of that. Maybe we should take this little travel committee elsewhere.”

At first I didn’t know whether to listen or wave him off, but the image of bones snapped like toothpicks and limbs splayed out at awkward, unnatural angles sent a shudder down my spine, knowing that not everyone had my good fortune, that after a fall so long and so hard all you needed was a less than perfect landing to…well, I made up my mind without much fuss. Someone needed help and I wasn’t about to leave their call unanswered, so, steeling my nerves, I marched right up to the door and placed a steady, confident hand on the doorknob. 

“Whatcha doing there, Lucky Charms?” Francis asked, pressing pause on his hurried retreat to stare at me like I was attempting to disarm a bomb. 

“Going inside? Didn’t you hear that scream, somebody seriously needs our help!”

He raised a questioning eyebrow, eyes flickering from me to the door. “For someone so cheerful, you sure have a death wish. We don’t know what’s happening in there, as far as we’re aware, cabin fever’s already set in and it’s an all-out free-for-all.”

“Now you’re just being silly! And look at it this way, if someone **_is_ **being attacked, it’s two against one!”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll actually be helpful.”

“Fine then, I’ll handle it myself!”

“...You’re kidding, right?”

“I never kid around! Well, no, that’s not right, but I’m totally, 100% serious right now, and I’ll prove it to you! Hiya!” Preparing myself for whatever lay inside, I wound up my leg like a spring and drove it into the door with a good old-fashioned front kick! That puny little board of wood didn’t stand a **_chance_ ** against me. It flew wide open with a satisfying **_CRACK_** , revealing my first glimpse of the **_true_ **nature of Hope’s Peak in a way I wouldn’t forget.

Within that **_far_ **from ordinary room, four massive, marble pillars glittering in the sunlight rose towards a gorgeous skylight of a ceiling, elegant staircases curled around them like serpents, each a deep, sparkling shade of midnight blue. At the very top, each pillar flattened into a stage decked out with instruments of every kind imaginable. Guitars and cellos, flutes and clarinets, harps, trombones, trumpets, and dozens of others I couldn’t possibly put a name to. In the center of it all, a grand piano stood as the crown jewel, the star of the show. Looking around, I could see rows upon rows of seats lining the walls, enough to fit hundreds, a thousand even, a spectacular audience fit for a spectacular show. The entire room held a smooth, tranquil aura, like the movements of a trained dancer, and if it wasn’t for the red bundle thrashing about on the floor in front of me I might have stared, awe-struck, for hours.

“Oh my gosh! It’s **_you!_ **"

With a squeak of surprise I rushed to the writhing mass that was the supervillain boy, still hopelessly entangled in his oversized scarf. Dropping to my knees, I dug my fingernails into the thick fabric smothering him and tugged at it with all my might, growing more and more fervent as every attempt to free him failed until Francis came to our rescue, calmly taking the ends of his scarf and unraveling the poor soul in a much more logical, dignified manner. 

As soon as his arms were freed, supervillain boy shoved him away and finished the job himself, kicking at the scarf with a look halfway between disgust and betrayal. By the time he finally escaped his face had flushed a deep eggplant purple, fading back to his normal, pale colour as he sucked down gulps of air. 

“Oh man...oh man oh man oh man!” he gasped, wild eyes darting between my companion and I, “I almost died! **_I_ **almost died!”

“You’re welcome,” Francis deadpanned, regarding the boy with a sense of tired disinterest.

Supervillain boy flinched. “I-I would have gotten myself out eventually! I didn’t need your help!” he spluttered, still out of breath from his life-or-death struggle with the vicious, man-eating scarf. After a pause, he added, “But, uh, it might have taken a while, so thanks for speeding up the process.”

“No problem!” We’re happy to help!” I beamed at the potential new friend, realizing that I not only had a new ally, but the chance for a take two on my Official Ultimate Introduction. “It is very nice to meet you. My name is Sylvia Hart, and I am the Ultimate Lucky Student! This is Francis Mc...um...McSomething, and he is the Ultimate Chef. Try not to take any offense from him, so far he’s been all bark and no bite!”

Francis McSomething jokingly snapped his teeth.

The boy seemed to take my words to heart, because he perked right up, his eyes brightening like a dimmer switch set to max as he thumped his thumb against his chest. “The name’s K.O Viridian! I’m the best Snowboarder you’ll ever meet, guaranteed! And if you **_do_ **find someone better than me, I’ll eat my own sock!”

Francis raised an eyebrow. “Sock….singular?”

Ko didn’t give him a straight answer, but the tone of his laugh told us everything we needed to know. Every aspect of him was so **_robust_** , so colourful and dynamic and surprisingly fitting with our unexpected change of venue, with his bulky, evergreen jacket laced with what looked to be streaks of red paint that clashed against the fluffy main of a hood ringed around the back of his neck, a bizarre fusion of lion and tiger, and snow pants so loose and baggy they pooled around his boots and I feared he’d trip up the second he went to stand on his own two feet. Ash-grey hair stuck out at odd angles from a crumpled red toque pulled down over his ears, a spiky ponytail falling out the back and his bangs so choppy and lop-sided I had to wonder if he’d cut them himself. But what I really found interesting, moresoe than his questionable fashion choices, was the fact that he quite obviously wasn’t Japanese, and by the accent thickening his voice I knew he couldn’t have been living here for very long at all. 

“That’s an interesting accent,” I began, being as subtle as I possibly could and hoping he’d take the bait.

And he did, quirking his head to the side, equal parts curious and confused. “I have an accent? Awesome! How do I sound? Do I sound like the Canadians in movies? Maybe I would if I said “eh” more..." He snickered, dissolved into laughter I didn’t quite understand, but found contagious all the same. 

“Not to be blunt,” Francis cut in, ending our fun with a steely, untrusting eye trained on our classmate, “But what are you doing here? Isn’t it a rule that you have to be enrolled in a **_Japanese_** high school to be scouted for Hope’s Peak?”

Ko nodded enthusiastically. You could tell he’d been waiting to share his story, and it didn’t matter who it was with. “I was! You’re looking at **_the_** most accomplished international student this country’s ever seen! Pretty sweet, right? Sure, I haven’t seen my dad in a year...and Japanese is like, **_really_** hard to learn...and there are **_no_** Tim Hortons in this country, believe me, I’ve looked…” His grin faltered. Suddenly, I began to wish I hadn’t brought up his heritage at all.

Francis shifted beside me, his discomfort becoming more and more obvious as Ko crumbled like a paper boat caught in a riptide. Then suddenly, he blurted out with no warning, “Seriously though, what kind of a name is “K.O”? Did your parents drop you so much as a baby they decided it’d be a fitting namesake?”

“Francis!” I gasped. But Ko didn’t need defending. 

“Hey! It’s cause I’m a knock-out! Get it? K.O? Knock-out?” he shot back indignantly, all traces of his homesickness forgotten as he **_literally_ **leapt to the defense of his name with eyes made of blue fire. 

I shot Francis a look, baffled when he refused to meet my eye. “ _Just what are you playing at?_ ” Even more uncertain than before, I clamored to my feet and placed a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, stroking his tensed-up muscles and damaged ego. “I get it! I get it! Ko is a **_super_ **cool name!”

“ ** _Huh?_** ” he squeaked, turning on me with his eyes wide as saucers and his voice high as a chipmunk's. “It’s not Ko, it’s **_K.O!_** There’s a **_difference!_** ”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Francis’s lips turn up in a cruel grin as a perfect opening to pick at the poor boy painted a target on his forehead. “That’s exactly what the lady said, **_Ko_ **,” he sneered, mockery dripping from his lips. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah there’s a problem! My name isn’t K.O, it’s **_Ko!_** Wait-I mean-gah! You’re messing me up!” With a miserable wail he collapsed to the floor, tugging his toque down over his eyes as he blocked out both of us wretched tormentors. Again, Francis refused to spare even a glance my way. Admittedly that time I was thankful he didn’t, worried he might see the guilt written across my face as deep down, I almost kinda sort of **_agreed_** with him. Ko was cute! K.O sounded like a rejected cereal mascot. 

“Aw, I’m sorry Ko,” I cooed, gently lifting the flap of his little woolen blindfold as I held out my hand, a peace offering. “We won’t tease you about your name anymore, promise. So...how’d you like to team up with us? We’ll need all the help we can get while we’re looking for the rest of our classmates!”

He regarded me for a moment, considering it, gears turning behind his eyes, and I thought for sure I had him hook, line, and sinker until he smacked my hand away and scrambled back onto his feet, proudly squaring his shoulders as he gazed off into some vague, faraway distance like the hero in an old west movie. “Thanks, but no thanks. **_K.O_ **isn’t a team player, he’s a lone wolf, a solitary hunter, a one man army! And he doesn’t need sidekicks!”

Neither Francis or I made a move to stop Ko as he walked, no, marched away with great, over-exaggerated stomps, swinging his arms about like a wound-up toy soldier. Huh. “ _Are_ **_all_ ** _of my classmates going to be so difficult to talk to?_ ” I wondered, trailing after Francis as he left the Music Room, “ _I suppose it makes sense for a bunch of Ultimates. Talk big,_ **_be_ ** _big...or something like that.”_

“Sooooooo…you have a very unconventional way of distracting people from their problems, huh?” I (half) teased him, giving his arm a light nudge in a playful, perhaps overly-familiar manner. 

He grunted, tucking in his head like a turtle retreating into its shell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Before I had the chance to go on, he plucked a cigarette from his breast pocket and stuck it between his teeth, chewing on its end as he fumbled with a lighter he seemed to produce from out of nowhere.

“Oh? You smoke? Actually, I can’t say that’s a big surprise, you **_totally_ **fit the “edgy loner smoking under an overhead in the rain” picture! But aren’t you taking it a little too seriously?” I gestured to the sprinklers dotting the ceiling above our heads, “We don’t even have an umbrella, you know.”

He scoffed at that, as if somehow a smoke detector detecting smoke was an unreasonable thing to expect, and as soon as the lighter could hold a flame he lit his cigarette without a second thought. “Like hell. I’d bet you 1000 yen they’re just for show. How put-together can this damn place be?”

Smug in his certainty, he drew a long, deep breath, tilted his head back, and blew a dragon’s breath of smoke towards the ceiling. I didn’t hesitate. Shrugging my backpack off of one shoulder, letting it slide down my arm and hook around the crook of my elbow, I reached inside and fumbled through it with my one free hand until I felt my fingers brush against something familiar, something I couldn’t quite pin a name to until I pulled it out and found myself the proud new owner of the world’s most convenient umbrella. How lucky!

I popped it open just in the nick of time. Within seconds a warning bell clattered its rickety song in the distance, and as the sprinklers roared to life they drenched the hallway with a heavy artificial rain until my poor, poor companion was soaked head to toe and dripping like a dog, the water trailing rivulets along his skin. I stared at him through the storm, waiting for the thunder. But his only reaction was to sigh, push his sopping wet hair from his eyes, and give the tip of his cigarette a dejected little flick. 

“Do you take cash or card?” he muttered, spitting water between the sliver of a grin. 

Amusement bubbled in my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from giggling at his sorry state, on and on until I had myself doubled-over wheezing with full-blown laughter (which he **_couldn’t’ve_ **been all too pleased by). “Sorry!” I gasped, wiping pinprick tears from the corner of my eye, “I’m sorry! Oh you poor thing...c’mon, let’s get you someplace dry!”

Shuffling close to him, I propped myself up on my tiptoes and stuck the umbrella above both our heads, straining, balancing precariously, barely able to fit his 6’0”, lanky frame in my little 4’11” bubble of dryness. And he took notice. Rolling his eyes, making a big show of huffing and puffing and muttering what I doubt were even words, he carefully pried the umbrella from my hands and held it high for the both of us.

“Over there,” he said, jutting his chin towards a nearby door. “We can wait it out. God knows classes aren’t starting anytime soon.”

Together we ran towards the door with awkward, bumbling feet, bumping shoulders as we fought for space. Though I couldn’t help, but notice how the umbrella never swayed out of my favour, and all the way through the hall I didn’t feel a single drop or lose even half an inch of shelter. Curious, I chanced a look at him. Water splattered against his cheeks, dripping down from his hair past his eyelashes and lips as he stood half-exposed in the rain, surrendering his spot to keep me warm and dry, and, rather suddenly, I felt that special first spark of fondness bloom in my chest. 

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Watch your step.”

“Huh?”

I’d been so caught up in my... **_observation_** , let’s call it, that I didn’t have the chance to notice what I can only refer to as the most unnecessary ledge I’d ever seen in my life, the kind you’d see in an old house where the floors weren’t built quite right. All I know is that one moment all was well and good and the next I’d fallen head-over-heels, flat-out on my stomach into the dark, strangely sticky room, the air knocked clean from my lungs. With a low, wheezy groan I pushed myself to my knees, wincing at the rotten bowling alley carpet texture of the flooring. Oh gross, it even stuck to my clothes! Shuddering with revulsion, I began to pick the fuzzballs off my poor skirt, only to notice a pair of black high-heeled shoes planted firmly on the ground in front of me...attached to two legs...attached to a torso...attached to...ah!

“You should really learn to knock before you enter a room,” a low, silky voice purred, like ropes of pure cotton ready to ensnare me alive and never let go, “You never can know what’s happening on the other side, after all…”

Her sudden appearance sent me reeling, and I skittered back to the (relative) safety of Francis’ side in a heartbeat. From the deep, unnerving darkness of the room, a pair of eyes the same color as thunderclouds flashed dangerously in the gloom, observing us with a gaze highlighted in silver eyeshadow. Her glossy, pink lips upturned in a chilling half-grin as she stalked from the shadows with the poise of a bird of prey prepared to strike at their unsuspecting prey, her shoulders squared beneath a jacket the color of heather fresh from the moor. It ended abruptly at the center of her arms and halfway down her ribs, showing off a skin-tight shirt black as the darkness itself. Her slim, perfectly pressed slacks were of the exact same flowery shade, ending in neat folds above her ankles (one sporting a dragon tattoo winking cheekily as it peeked out from its hiding spot). 

I watched, transfixed by her otherworldly charm, as she raised a gloved hand and raked her fingers through the short, smokey lavender hair combed over to one side in a rolling wave, grinning past lips stamped with a silver piercing. She was beautiful. Stunningly so. My words ran dry and my gaze fell away, my mind full of the most bizarre idea that I might turn to stone if I basked in her presence for too long.

But where I faltered, Francis picked up the slack. “Who’re you?” he asked, her good looks inspiring more wariness than awe. 

The girl ran a rather unimpressed eye over him. “Depends who’s asking. But as far as **_you’re_ ** concerned…” she giggled into her palm as Francis reared back, startled, “Don’t give me that look. The gossip surrounding you is...interesting, I’ll admit, but a refined lady such as myself must refrain from forming opinions until she has all of her facts in order! There will be time for that later. But for now…” she flashed her pearly whites, grinning in a grim, humorless fashion like a mannequin on display, like **_she_ **was on display, “You may call me Ume Fujimori, the Ultimate Hostess.”

...I didn’t like her. It was completely and utterly superficial, I knew, a skin-deep observation based on a measly dozen and a half words, but something about her, the inflection of her voice, how she held herself, and the glitter-speckled gleam of her eyes, **_unsettled_ **me deep in the pit of my gut. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be civil.

Slinking out from Francis’ shadow, I approached my new classmate with a shaky smile and my hand held out in greeting. “I’m Sylvia,” I rasped, swallowing once before pushing on with my clunky introduction, “I mean, um, **_ahem_ **, I’m Sylvia! Sylvia Hart, to be exact, and I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student!”

Ume hardly acknowledged me. Clapping her hands together, she instead fixed Francis with a smile as her eyes lit up with a cat-like gleam. “Now that I think about it, my partner simply **_loved_ ** your show,” she purred, her voice soaked in enough false sweetness to send a shiver down my spine. “You **_must_ **meet them! Oh, Vincent!”

On-cue, a head of cerulean blue hair popped up behind the sofa with wide, inquisitive eyes like two chips of aquamarine. “Whatever do you need, mon chéri?” they asked in a voice smooth and sweet as velvet, giving a start as they noticed Francis and I standing illuminated by the light filtering in from the water-logged hallway. They gasped. Francis groaned. “It cannot be! Francis McCullin!”

In two rabbit-hops, they bounded from their hiding spot to greet Francis with an infectious sense of elation, joy radiating from every part of their being...and then I blinked. In that brief moment, a change occurred. A flip switched. It was as if they had passed through an invisible barrier surrounding my companion, one that radiated the fear shown plainly in his eyes with such an intensity it shook our new classmate to their core. They skidded to a halt, and rather than greet Francis with a friendly handshake, or even a nod among peers, they gave him a deep, mournful bow. 

“My apologies,” they mumbled, honest, but hesitant, as if they knew they were treading across ground littered with landmines. “I watched the live broadcast. That must not be a time you want to remember.”

Francis merely blinked, neither denying, nor accepting Vincent’s offered sympathy. “ _Seriously, who_ **_is_ ** _this guy!?_ ” I wanted to scream, wishing briefly, very, very briefly, I could force him into the nearest seat and pull his life story from him like teeth, if only to end the so impossibly frustrating sensation of being left horribly out-of-the-loop. It made my skin **_crawl_**. But it vanished, whisked away like morning dew, at the sight of Francis choking on an explanation, posed to flee at the drop of a hat. He needed me. I couldn’t leave him to drown.

“Um...hello?” I ventured, stiffly, waving a hand to capture the attention of everyone in the room, “Hi! I’m still here, you know.”

Vincent and I locked eyes. I had to smother a sigh of relief as they gave a shallow nod, signaling they understood me. “Ah, of course! Pardon my rudeness, miss, I cannot believe I let my manners abandon me for so long!” They bowed, again, quite the odd habit for a person to have, and gently took my hand in theirs as they pressed a quick kiss to the top of my knuckles. “Vincent Takamoto, The Ultimate Archer. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Uh-oh. That classmate...was **_also_ **stunningly beautiful. With light brown skin and soft, luxurious hair I could recall seeing flashes of when I first stepped foot into the school, since bundled up in a loose bun so strands spilled around their cheeks and their bangs went untouched, styled perfectly like the wing of a hawk. Their clothes, well, they were near-indescribable, with a faded blue garment that encompassed them like a billowing sweater, pressed beneath a white, vest-like piece covered in feather-shaped scales that ended in a fur-lined cape ringing around their hips, swooping down to the back of their legs. Their pants were brown, deeply so, and stuffed into white boots with winged tips unscuffed by time, as if they really were built for walking on air. 

Soon, I caught sight of the bow sticking out behind their back, strapped to a quiver holding dozens of arrows so perfectly polished the arrowheads reflected the light like tiny jewels. Even though they were weapons, something about their bold, sterling silver gleam gave off a feeling of regality in place of roughness, and I knew for certain they had never once harmed a living being, and that they did not belong to a hunter, but a showman. Because, much like Byakuya, that person possessed a sort of noble charm you would usually only find in books dated back centuries. But unlike him, there was a **_flash_ **to their disposition. If Byakuya was a match, Vincent was a firecracker.

“Perhaps you’d like an autograph? I find it’s the perfect way to mark any occasion.”

“Huh?” Their odd words snapped me from my stupor, and from the way they raised their head, tilted slightly to one side, I could tell the bewilderment was mutual. “Autograph? Don’t get me wrong, I think you seem really cool, but, uh, why would I want an autograph? Is it an Ultimate thing? Do you want **_my_ **autograph?”

Vincent drew away, flinching as though I’d physically struck them. “Do you not know who I am?” they gasped, draping a dainty hand over their heart. I feared they might faint when I shook my head. “My word!”

Ume uttered a soft titter of pity, wrapping her arms around Vincent’s shoulders in a tight, not at **_all_** possessive embrace. “Don’t pay her any mind,” she mumbled, so close to a whisper I could scarcely hear her. “ ** _Some_** people have no taste in idols.”

Was I supposed to hear that? “Idols?” I echoed, wincing as Ume fixed me with narrowed eyes that punched holes through my very soul. I **_definitely_ **wasn’t supposed to hear that.

“You haven’t heard of them?” Francis chimed in, a hint of envy to his voice, “That’s a feat. I can hardly get out of bed without having their face stuffed down my throat from three different directions.”

Vincent tossed him a wink, running a hand along their jawline. “Ah, but is it not a wondrous thing to see when you first open your eyes?”

“Fucking **_haunting_** is what it is. Did it ever occur to you that plastering your face on a bottle of **_body wash_** might be going a little too far?”

Ume giggled, halfway between mockery and genuine humor with the line in-between impossibly blurred, and tucked her chin against the crook of her partner’s neck. “Don’t forget the calendars, facial masks, mouthwash, and phone cases, not to mention every other billboard from Wakkanai to Kagoshima! All while practicing archery enough to become the Ultimate Archer!” she crowed, and though pride added a gloating edge to her voice, you could tell by the way she squeezed Vincent tight and lifted her chin like their accomplishments were her own, that they were truly, deeply committed to each other in every sense of the word. If not for the overbearing PDA, it would have been a touching sight.

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling,” Vincent cooed, reaching back to comb their fingers through her hair (they were beginning to look like a renaissance painting). “You’re a delight! A sweet morning flower, glorious in mind, body, and spirit! I am, but a single, pale rose in comparison to your radiance!”

“Oh, Vincent...you’re right. I **_am_ **rather easy on the eyes, aren’t I?”

It was becoming difficult to watch.

But just when I thought I’d twist up my insides recoiling at such an overt display of affection, I felt something bump clumsily against my shoulder, and looked to see Francis with his face twisted in matching discomfort. “I think we should take our chance to get out of here,” he muttered, ducking down close to my ear so I alone could hear him. 

And I couldn’t agree more.

I couldn’t explain why the hallway was bone dry when we stepped outside, I just couldn't. But when neither Francis or I spoke a word to point out how remarkably bizarre it was, I assumed that meant we’d accepted it as yet another impossibility we’d lived through, and would hopefully, one day, escape. And besides, we had other matters catching our eyes. Namely the lithe, slithering figure dressed in all black slinking down the hallway with sunken shoulders and their head held like a weight they had no any strength left to carry, another classmate, one who hadn’t yet noticed us, but was certainly about to. 

“Hello!” I called out to them, waving my hands in the hopes it would capture their attention. “Hey! Hiya! Helloooooooooo?”

They snapped upright at the sound of my voice, slowly, fearfully, turning to face me, their skin white as a ghost’s and pulled taunt with terror. I could see them start to tremble. Their lips parted, but no words came, and they didn’t stick around to try and force them out, breaking into a sprint without warning so they disappeared around the corner in a purple-black blur as fast as their weirdly twiggy legs could carry them. Was it something I said?

“Looks like they’re wising up to us, Lucky Charms,” Francis noted dryly. “Now they know to run.”

But that wasn’t going to deter me, not one bit. “If it’s a run he wants…” I grinned, rolling up my sleeves as the promise of a little action pumped pure excitement through my veins, “...then it’s a run he’ll get!”

Belting out a battle cry, I took off like a shot after my troublesome classmate and skidded around the corner in hot pursuit, determined not to be bested by some twig wearing oversized shoulder pads. He hadn’t gotten far, either. The hallway before us offered no protection, no obvious path of escape from my outstretched hands without having to corner yourself in a room you couldn’t possibly anticipate, and I could see my very own train of thought flicker through him as he hesitated, a minute shift of the head, an almost unnoticeable slowing. And by the time he’d considered his options, I’d already closed the gap between us.

“Wait!” I gasped, lungs burning with exertion, “I’m not (gasp) trying (heave) to hurt you!”

He wasn’t soothed in the slightest. He tossed a look over his shoulder, saw me hot on his heels, and let out a strangled squawk of fear like a cockatoo being chased by a housecat as he took off again, speeding up even further until his legs were a cartoonish pinwheel blur. Gah! I was built for brief bursts of speed, not a marathon!

We twisted sharply around one corner, then another, and right when I realized I had reached the brink of my endurance, I spotted my salvation in the near-distance...Francis! He hadn’t bothered to move an inch, and blocked our classmate’s only escape route with an expression I **_guess_ **you could say was intimidating if you saw it at a glance, not knowing he was tired, wet, and smoke-deprived. Realizing this, he grinded to a halt with a windless gasp, and I thought for sure I had him until he spun on his heels and dove into a room I hadn’t noticed before. 

“Come on!” I wheezed, beckoning for my companion to follow. Winding down to a calmer, less menacing pace, I **_slowly_ ** opened the door and **_non-threateningly_ ** slipped inside...only for something small, but hard to bonk me square on the forehead. “Ow! What was **_that_ ** for?” I cried out, but in place of a response three more mystery weapons pelted my face and chest until I was forced to make my retreat back behind the door, nearly barreling over poor Francis in the process. “Can you believe it? That little punk is **_throwing_ **things now! Can’t he see I’m only trying to help?”

“Well you **_did_ **just chase him down the hallway like a damn cheetah after an antelope.”

“No I didn’t! I chased him like a...like a friendly...something...that doesn’t matter right now! I need to get in there before he starts barricading the door!”

I blew into the room in a pink-and-white blaze, all sense of subtlety forgotten as I wove through the onslaught of pill bottles hurled my way and dove towards the nearest source of shelter, an iron-frame bed, in a blind panic. The bitter tang of formaldehyde in the air poisoned every breath I took, leaning against scratchy sheets. It tipped me off to where I was in a snap. A Nurse’s Office, through and through, and I wondered, somewhat maliciously, if I could use that to my advantage…

“Try talking to him first,” I whispered, a fierce self-command, “If that doesn’t work you can paste him to the wall with medical tape! But first, let’s try to be civil…” 

And so I tried to be civil. I scooted to the end of the bed, sticking my head out into the open as I offered my frazzled classmate a quaint, calming smile…

That was my first mistake.

Without warning, a sharp, streamlined object zapped past my ear, its soft, “ _whp_ ” sounding so unnervingly close I went stiff, waiting for pain to explode against the side of my head as I realized I’d been hit. But it never came. It missed. Pure, indignant rage boiled in my stomach, smothering every last bit of fear. “A **_scalpel?_** Seriously?! That tears it!”

He wanted to do it the hard way? Fine! **_We’d do it the hard way_ **. I threw all caution to the wind, abandoning the safety of the hospital bed so I could hurl myself towards my classmate, who went moon-eyed at the realization of what I was about to do, with a screech of fury befitting a 4’11”, pink-and-white cheetah on the prowl for a cowardly gazelle. My feet left the floor before I even fully understood what I was doing. Soaring through the air with my arms outstretched, I locked eyes with the boy, and in that moment I knew as well as he did that it would take a miracle to save him from my well-intentioned wrath. 

“ ** _DON’T TOUCH ME!_** ”

His shrill, begging shriek struck me like a pulse of energy, slowing time itself so I could see each and every micro-movement that led to him ducking, cowering under his own arms, skittering out of my path of destruction with all the speed expected of Africa’s favourite prey. Should I have been frustrated? Maybe. But at the time, knowing his sheer overwhelming desire must’ve come from **_somewhere_ **, I found myself more relieved than anything.

That feeling did not last long.

It evaporated the moment my face collided with the heavily-stocked medicine cabinet that laid in wait behind him. Pain shot through my nose like a bullet all the way out through the back of my head, a heavy, radiating ache that swept through my skull until I thought it might explode. I cried out in agony. But the floor cut me off, rushing up to meet me so my ribs took the blunt force of the impact, and through the hazy cloud of hurt and confusion I swore I could hear them tinkling like a xylophone in a kiddy cartoon.

“ _I’m unconscious,”_ I told myself, “ _I really am unconscious. I’m going...going...I’m gone…_ ”

That’s when bottles began to rain from the broken shelves, battering my already bruised body in a perfect moment of adding insult to injury.

But if there’s one thing I have in surplus, it’s elasticity. Despite the fact that a lump had popped out from my forehead like a golfball stuck under my skin, I rose from the floor with shaky, painstakingly slow movements, hoping not to jar my rattled insides any more, slumping back onto my hips as I wavered halfway between crying and throwing up. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Continue, until finally, the ache subsided to a more manageable echo. 

“That’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” I grumbled, flinching as the vibrations of my own voice elicited a sharp stab of pain through my temple. 

With a hand on my head, I stumbled past the fluorescent office lights (was it just me, or had they gone mind-numbingly bright?), perched on the brink of collapse as I pushed past the door and straight into Francis’ turned back. “ _Where were you?_ ” I wanted to ask, but remembering to breathe evenly took up too much headspace, “ _I could have used a little backup in there!_ ”

At first he wore an expression of smug expectancy, his quirked lips screaming, “ _I told you so_ ”. Then he took in my state. The stumble in my step, the pain in my eyes, the aforementioned golfball head, and his eyebrows shot straight up like a game of carnival strongman. “Holy shit,” he murmured, as if to himself, “What happened to you? You’re **_bleeding_**.”

“Huh? No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Look…” He reached out to me, then paused, letting his hand drop uselessly to his side as if pointing out a wound was **_much_** too intimate a gesture, leaving me to grope at the vague area he’d gestured to. Soon my fingertips grew warm, wet with blood pooling from a nick at the edge of my ear. 

“That little punk!” I gasped, clutching at my wound and the surely pink-stained hair around it, “That’s not gonna grow back, either! People are going to start calling me Nicky!”

A low hum rumbled in Francis’ throat, almost a laugh, almost a scoff. “No one’s going to call you “Nicky”, it’s not even clever. And besides, no one will notice once you wash the blood away.”

“Yeah...I guess you’re right.” I let his words soothe me, pulling my hand away as the blood slowed and began to clot. “Thanks, Francis. But you know, it would have been nice if you had tagged along! What’s-his-face got away!”

“What, you mean our good friend Shuto?” he replied, and, seeing my obvious confusion, he fished out his Monopad from his back pocket and motioned for me to take a look, having to tilt his screen so I could see it standing on my tiptoes. “See this?” he pointed to an icon in the perfect likeness of our black-clad, purple-haired escape artist. One tap of the finger and it blew up to a full-body image complete with a matching wall of text. “Apparently you’ve just traumatized the Ultimate Pyrotechnician. Actually, I’m a little surprised I didn’t recognize him sooner.”

“You know him?”

He shrugged. “Not **_personally_ ** , but, well…" Shaking his head, he shut off his Monopad and shoved it back into his pocket. “It's not my place to say, and right now it doesn't matter. Look, I think I’ve figured out why he was so skittish. Well, it’s more of an **_idea_** , really, but right now it’s the only clue we got.” 

He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to show off the strange bracelet Monokuma had given us earlier, and though my vision had taken on a hint of blurriness I could still make out the blocky, apple-red text scrolling across its surface:

**EAT UNDERCOOKED FOOD**

“I’m not too sure what it means either, but given how trustworthy that damned bear is I’d say it’s about the last thing I’d wanna do.” He grimaced, roughly tugging his sleeve back down so he could keep the mysterious message out of sight and out of mind. “I get if you don’t wanna show me yours, but I’d suggest checking it out sometime.”

That...wasn’t a very appealing idea. But at the same time I couldn’t say I was all too keen on the alternative, either, the not knowing might have killed me before the bracelet ever did. So I sucked it up. “No, no, it’s ok. I trust you! Here, let’s see…”

I mimicked his movements, bracing myself, my eyes kept firmly shut until the bracelet was uncovered and I had no choice, but to confront the text fluttering across its screen as if it was afraid to be seen. My breath caught in my throat as I read, clear as day:

**N/A**

“ _...N/A?_ ” The word tumbled around in my already sore mind, churning it into a disoriented mess. “ _But that doesn’t make any sense! Why do_ ** _I_** _have nothing where Francis has...oh no, Francis…_ ”. I looked to my companion, terrified I would find disgust or jealousy or anything burning with the raw sting of hatred in his eyes, but instead, they were closed, and he sighed with no obvious ill-intent.

“Well that’s a relief. I guess whoever’s in charge forgot to set yours up.”

I blinked, gratitude welling up within me. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? Oh, woe is me, now I can’t enjoy my favourite pastime of gnawing on raw salmon like a fuckin’ grizzly bear. Relax. I’m just glad it doesn’t say “Befriend an asshole”.”

It took a moment for me to absorb what he was saying. Then I started grinning like a fool. “Franc ** _iiiiiiiiis!_** ” I trilled, loving how taken-aback he was at my teasing tone. “Call me crazy, but I swore I just heard you saying we’re friends!”

“What? No! That’s...neither here nor there,” he shot back, and I watched, transfixed as he became **_flustered_** , rubbing the back of his neck as his face went dark with a reddening blush. “You realize this means **_you_ **admit I’m an asshole.”

“No offense, but yeah, you **_totally_ **are. I still like you though! All you gotta do is think about how other people feel maybe...60% more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can do 35.”

“Since when is this a negotiation? Fine, 55.”

“40.”

“Deal!”

I stuck out my hand, offering a shake that would cement our new pact. At first he eyed it with an undisguised sense of wariness, as though he thought I was made of razor blades or had skin hot as coals or electricity pulsing beneath my fingertips ready to shock him at a moment’s notice, but eventually, he relented. The shake itself was brief and clumsy. The touch was what mattered. The way he held my hand, you could’ve sworn he’d never done so before, and it was telling, so, **_so_ **telling, if only I could put my finger on what it meant. I made a mental note to find new ways to draw that softer side out of him, plastering on the most innocent smile I could possibly muster and hoping no sense of mischief had wormed its way between my teeth.

“Now come on, let’s get out of here! Nurse’s Offices always give me the creeps…”

In a twist of bitter fate, we had back-tracked, not that we’d actually gotten far in the past hour or so, a quite frankly demoralizing thought. However, having little to lose opens up new possibilities all on its own. Knowing we weren’t losing much ground either way, I managed to convince Francis that his long-abandoned backpack might hold a fresh change of clothes. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Francis sighed as he kicked his bag aside, having come up with nothing, but a handful of adorable Dollcis to match my Dollvias. “I’m not like you. I haven’t had a lucky break in years and I doubt I’m gonna start soon.”

Yeesh, I could nick my other ear on all that edge! "Here, let **_me_ ** see…” I unceremoniously yanked the backpack from his grasp so I could root through it myself, coming up with a neatly pressed stack of clothes that matched his outfit to a T, warmed by the bag’s plush interior. “Tah-Dah! I knew coming back here was a **_clover_ **decision! Haha! Come on, that was funny!”

Francis stared at me for a long, long time. “What the fuck **_are_** you?”

I waited outside as he changed, and while standing idly by, I managed to catch a flurry of muted mutterings floating out from the cracked door of the classroom beside me. Another new classmate? The very idea had me hooked. Surely, Francis wouldn’t mind if I took a _tiiiiiiiiiiny_ peek without him? Cautious as I mouse, I slunk inside the second normal-abnormal classroom and laid eyes on a classmate standing on the other side of the room, so captivated by the outside view they had their face and hands pressed against the glass, leaving fingertip smudges and fog-like breath streaking across the otherwise untouched picture. 

“This is **_incredible!_** One minute it’s 20° and sunny and the next it’s below freezing! This **_can’t_** have happened to anyone else ever before, just me!” they cackled madly, like a witch on Halloween, “This’ll make **_the_** most amazing story, it’ll be so totally original the critics will think I’m totally insane!”

“Just me”? Had she forgotten about the rest of us? Well, she was in for a surprise! “Hello there!” I greeted her, straining to be heard over the erratic scritch-scratch of her pencil, her ears clogged up by her own concentration. “How do you do?”

“Eek!” With a squeak of surprise she whirled around to face me, hurriedly covering her fright with a huff of annoyance and over-pronounced pout. Something about it felt so **_familiar_**...oh! No wonder, she was the brazen, ginger-haired classmate I’d seen earlier, her curly ponytail bouncing about like an off-kilter metronome. Someone like her wasn’t easy to forget.

Her entire person **_screamed_ ** colour, from her jelly bean green eyes to the star pin in her hair, originality trickling down onto her clothes so bright and robust someone might as well have cracked a glowstick over her head. I so clearly remember her lemon yellow shirt covered with huge, bubbly white spots, its sleeves ending in a neat tie just above the elbows and cuff stretching out to her shoulders, folding downwards in a lovely summertime ruffle. Her cream-beige cargo pants were plastered with bumper stickers from all across the world like a corkboard for someone who never settled down. Even without looking for too long I could spot ones from Africa, Europe, North America, and one that **_must_ ** have been a joke because the name sprawled across it was “Mississippi”, and that couldn’t **_possibly_ **be a real place. 

But what most caught my attention had to be the one stamped directly over her left-side pocket. A cartoonish spaceship piloted by an alien with green skin and buggy black eyes, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” scratched into the ship’s hull. She must have taken pride in it, it even matched the camera dangling around her neck, shaped so perfectly like the sticker I had to wonder if she’d gotten it specially made. Somehow, the sight of it alone gave me the peculiar feeling that she and Ko would get along wonderfully. They even shared a similar accent...

A noisy “ ** _HUMPH_** ” broke into my thoughts, and I tore my gaze away from her camera to find her glaring dead at me with her arms crossed over her chest and her foot making an expectant _tappa-tap-tap_ against the floor. Uh-oh. “You there! Don’t you know it’s **_illegal_** to scare a gifted journalist like me out of her musings?” she snapped, “Or, well, it **_should_** be anyways. To think, if I didn’t have such a fantastic memory I might have forgotten what I was about to...about to...you know!”

“Say?”

“Yeah, say!” She nodded in a not-all-too appreciative manner, then, all at once, fell silent, her eyes flickering across my face as she gauged (or perhaps **_anticipated_ ** would be a better word) my reaction. “Um...hell _oooooooo?_ Lucy Maya, **_the_ **Ultimate Journalist, is standing right in front of you! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for most people, shouldn’t you be totally freaking out?!”

Good question. Should I have? Her name didn’t ring any bells, but as time ticked on and I watched her deflate as I gave no response, I felt a twinge of pity, and knew I had to throw her a bone. “Oh, right! I remember now,” I laughed, knocking my knuckles against my temple as if I’d shaken a memory of her right back into place. “Silly me, how could I forget you, Lucy Maya, and all of those...articles you wrote?”

It was a gamble at best. But, low and behold, it actually worked, and Lucy’s ego ballooned back up to its normal height as she crowed, “Ha! There you go, I knew your noggin just needed a little ‘joggin!”

She laughed heartily, full of self-satisfied glee. For all of one heartbeat she remained satiated, until a new, curious spark ignited in her eyes and she drew closer, pacing tight circles around me with hushed mutterings of “ _Hmmmm_ ” and “ _Haaaaw_ ” and “ _Oh_ **_this_ ** _is interesting..._ ”. I spun to keep up with her as she swooped up high and ducked down low, observing each and every inch of me. Was I really **_that_ **interesting? I hardly thought so. 

“Whatcha doing?” I asked, but my words fell on deaf ears as Lucy leapt back with a gasp that must’ve shook her very lungs, clasping her hands over her mouth as she squealed, “Oh. My. God! You’re **_her!_ **"

“Her?”

“The Ultimate Lucky Student, **_duh!_** This is so exciting! I can see it now, journalist Lucy Maya’s exclusive interview with the first-ever Lucky Student picked outside of a draw, the closest an Ultimate can come to a commoner!” Her words came fast and breathless, as if operating at a different speed than the rest of her body. Any longer and I thought for sure she’d huff and puff and blow me away with the sheer force of her excitement.. “Tell me, how does it feel to come into this great tragedy, to have the sled of opportunity tugged out from under your feet by the cruel older sibling of fate just as you’ve reached the hill of success?”

I blinked. “That’s...definitely an interesting question!” was all I could fumble out. She’d stung a part of me I never knew was sore, bored deep into a weak point I didn’t know I had. These Ultimates were elite, upper-class students with the world pinned beneath their thumb, and as little as I cared for Hope’s Peak up until I learned I’d been “scouted”, even **_I_** went through life subconsciously aware of the power they flexed over the country. They dominated television. Painted pop culture in their image. If I pried into my memories I knew I’d see their faces plastering billboards I’d never given two thoughts about. Was that why they felt so...familiar? As if someway, somehow, they’d always been part of my life, out of reach, but by my side since I was a child?

I blinked once more. Lucy was waiting. Come on, Sylvia, how do you feel about **_everything?_** I wracked my brain for something clever, praying the perfect comeback would click into place and I could pull my tongue like a trigger, blasting her words full of holes so she could never question me again. I never got the chance to find a bullet. 

“Lucy?”

The sound of Francis’ voice twisted in an ugly snarl not only sent a tremor up my spine, but shook Lucy down to her very core, each and every last drop of colour drained from her face as her gaze snapped over my shoulder, locking onto my companion as he stalked into the room. I drew away sharply, rearing back as Francis’ expression came into view. Hatred poisoned him. He might as well have been a stranger. Even in the face of such fury, Lucy refused to step back. She stood her ground with the poise of someone three turns from calling, “Checkmate”, her self-assurance taking a backseat only to a dark, bitter sense of anger. 

“ ** _You_** ,” she hissed.

“ ** _You_** ,” Francis spat.

I wanted to smash my head into the wall. “Oh good **_grief!_** Does **_everyone_** in this school know each other!?” Exhausted, I threw out my arms in a broad, ultimately meaningless gesture as my two classmates faced off like stray cats fighting over garbage scraps. “Was there a meeting I missed? A phone call? An-ack!”

Suddenly, Lucy snatched me by the arm and I could only splutter off into silence as she reeled me away from Francis with her fingernails dug deep into my skin. “Be careful! The last thing you want to do is provoke him, believe me.”

She spoke as if he wasn’t even there, standing no more than two feet away. That didn’t mean he hadn’t heard her. All at once his rage fizzled out like a firecracker caught in a storm, and he became hollow, sick with a sense of burnt-out exhaustion. “That’s rich coming from you,” he said (not sneered, not screamed, simply...said). “I never did anything to you. I didn’t even know who you **_were_ **until you decided to start dragging my name through the mud for kicks.”

Lucy snorted, contemptuously, “Oh puh- ** _lease!_** You dragged **_yourself_** through the mud. All I did was wade through enough muck to uncover the cold hard facts! And don’t you dare argue with me, **_I_** have sources!”

“Yeah, I saw. Real fuckin’ credible witness you have.” He ducked his head, overwhelmed. When he raised it, disgust not only wrinkled his nose, but crunched his entire face beneath its unbearable weight. “You never once thought she’d be, I don’t know, **_biased?_** But that’s not even the worst part. You never gave me the chance to give **_my_** piece, do you have **_any_** idea what it was like to have an entire goddamn smear campaign against me be the first thing I saw when I got my phone back?”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Got your phone back?” she echoed, and Francis winced, knowing he’d given up too much, “Who took your phone away? Oh my god! Were you in **_prison!?_** ”

“No I wasn’t in **_prison!_** Jesus Christ, don’t you ever get tired? You’d think someone would get worn out pretty quick when they turn every goddamn interaction into an interrogation.”

For once, Lucy didn’t have a retort. She clamped her jaw shut, tight, gritting her teeth with a vague, far-away look to her eyes as if searching her mind for ammo. I took the opportunity to worm my way out of her grasp. It left angry red streaks marring my arms, but I didn’t care, not once looking back as I rushed to Francis’ side.

“We should go,” I said to him, before turning back to Lucy with a polite, if not brief dip of the head, “It was very nice to meet you. Francis and I have to hurry if we want to find all of our classmates before sunset, but I have a feeling we’ll bump into each other again soon.”

Then I took Francis by the arm and stole him away before she could tear him wide open.

“Hey, wait!” Lucy called after us, and I would have kept walking if she hadn’t nabbed me by the shoulder, wrenching me around to face her. I almost could have fooled myself into believing her eyes held a genuine note of concern. “Didn’t you hear a **_word_ ** I said!? This guy’s dangerous! I’m not gonna stop you, I mean, you **_are_ ** the Ultimate Lucky Student, but you should at **_least_ **take this…”

She unzipped her watermelon-wedge purse, rummaging through it until her hand closed around a strange, boxy object with two metal prods at the end, one that fit perfectly against my palm as she gifted it to me with a strange sense of urgency. I looked down at it. I found a taser. And not a prop taser, either, it buzzed with electric life the moment I pressed a switch on its side. 

I wanted to ask why. I only thanked her. 

We left the room in a daze, mindlessly retracing our steps so soon we were once again walking side-by-side past those expansive courtyard windows, the only difference being the golden, honey-like quality of the sunlight as evening sprang up to greet us. Even the weight of the very air around us had changed, heavy under the burden of barely-concealed secrets. Anxiety twisted knots in my stomach and I wrapped my arms around it in a feeble attempt to mimic the heated blanket I used to keep under my bed, back when I owned more than the clothes on my back and whatever scraps life saw fit to toss my way. I had so little. How could I ever hope to offer Francis something that would **_help_** , or even dream of soothing the wounds he carried in a way I felt I should?

I wanted to make it better.  
I **_needed_ ** to make it better.   
Say something.   
Say something.   
Say something.   
**_Say something_**.

“Thanks.”

“Huh?” I snapped back to reality, blinking dumbly up at Francis as he very pointedly turned his head away, the sunlight masking his expression. “Thanks for what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. You never ask questions. You never pry. It’s uh, you know...nice…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. Soon all his words were mumbled and he hesitated on every syllable. “I never have any **_agency_**. Most people either watched the live broadcast, or read the article that popped up not even fifteen minutes later. At least with you I have a **_choice_**. I feel more like a person and less like a walking sob story. I-”

“Hey,” I stopped him in his tracks, touching his arm in such a careful, tender manner I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt less than a ghost of it. “It’s refreshing to be a complete stranger to someone, isn’t it? Hold onto that feeling! So what if I'm curious? Remember the old saying, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back? There’s no satisfaction in digging up old memories just to make you miserable! And besides..." I let mischief dance across my tone as I teased, "I can always come up with my **_own_** theories."

For a moment, I feared I had hit the wrong key, struck a sour note, rushed into a sense of playfulness he wasn't ready for. I'd already prepped a gushing, heart-felt apology by the time he raised an eyebrow, mirroring my own humor. "Oh yeah? And those would be?"

I brushed off my relief with a shrug, struggling to rope in an oh-so-telling grin. "I don't have any **_great_** conspiracy theories yet, but...maybe you were the host of a kid's show, fired after starting a fist-fight with the mascot! Or you gave the Prime Minister food poisoning! Or maybe you just swore on live TV. Honestly, I feel like I'm onto something with that last one. That would **_really_** have Vincent clutching at their pearls!"

A grin broke out across Francis’ lips. Then he chuckled. Then he **_laughed_** , a short, but genuine sound, smothered the moment he heard himself, but real all the same. I didn’t bring it up, and he didn’t make excuses. We walked in comfortable silence through the yellow-soaked hallway without the need for sound to fill the empty space between us.

Maybe sometimes, doing nothing can mean everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a clever name for it, but this chapter has been something akin to a "dead" chapter in the fact that the several times I've re-written it have felt a lot like kicking a dead horse. When writing, occasionally you will hit a scene or a chapter that never comes out the way you want it to, no matter how many times you have re-written it, and when you do it can feel so impossibly frustrating that you might begin to question yourself, "Am I doing this wrong? Am I not as talented a writer as I thought I was?" But it's important to remember that you are not alone in that feeling! Push through, even if it does not come out the way you want it to, you can still take pride in your resilience now that you've proved to yourself you will not give up without a fight. Happy writing!
> 
> -TheHartProject
> 
> P.S Apologies for the lengthiness of this chapter! Most will average out at about 10-14 pages (Google Docs), this one is a bit of an anomaly.


	3. Insert Coin to Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia and Francis continue their journey through Hope's Peak, blissfully unaware of how little time they have left before it all comes crashing down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Non-descriptive eye horror

Forks...thoughts?

Ok, so I can’t **_always_** come up with memorable openings, but what’s there to do when a chapter of one's life honest-to-goodness, surely and truly does not begin in a memorable way, by any means a memorable way might present itself? Francis and I were walking. We came across a fork, not **_that_** kind, mind you, but a fork in the road, one path veering off to the right and the other plunging headlong into the darkness before us, off in the not-so-distant distance. We had no map, no guide, not even a flashlight, and certainly no clue what to do.

“Hmmmmm…” I hummed to myself, pacing back and forth between the two paths, “I feel like the path on the left is calling out to me, you know? _Sylviaaaaaaaa_ , it says, " _come travel down meeeeeeee_.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just the air conditioning,” Francis replied. For all his sarcasm, I knew as his head swung back and forth like a slow-motion pendulum and his brows knitted tightly together that he wasn’t any more sure of himself than I was. “We already know that the left path loops round the courtyard, right? Isn’t that where you and Twitchy McGee had your little cat-and-mouse? You of all people should know what’s down there.”

I put a hold on my pacing, whirling around to face my companion with a defensive frown and my hands making fists against my hips. “Hey! In case you didn’t notice, I was a **_scooch_ **preoccupied at the time! Anything could be down there, like our dorm rooms or the kitchen or a greenhouse or a storage room or a-”

“Alright, alright.” He raised his arms in surrender. “I don’t like the looks of that other hallway, anyways. Too dark.”

“Then it’s settled! Phew! What a relief...to be honest, I absolutely **_hate_** the dark.”

“It’s not exactly sunny California down the other path either, you know.”

“...Yeah.”

You know how the days grow short during wintertime? Well, this mountaintop of ours had taken things to a new extreme, having fallen into near-complete darkness in the span of minutes at most. Blink and you miss it! Suddenly, the sun swooped low beneath the horizon and the school had adopted a new, hospital-in-a-horror-movie luminescence, with harsh white lights that flickered on and off like they had to fight to stay awake, and I wasn’t all too sure we’d even passed 3 o’clock! It was as if reality itself couldn’t handle the hair-turned switch from mid-April Japan to a Himalayan winter and had begun to lag, horribly, just as lost as we were. The thought worried me. If we couldn’t rely on the basic fundamentals of the universe, what **_could_ **we rely on?

I abandoned the idea, cast it away alongside every other troubling tangle of fears clouding my headspace. I didn’t need its weight pulling me down. Especially as another newness came into view, a pair of double doors rich with a dark, oaken colour, adorned by glittering gold doorknobs and an evergreen frame. It **_begged_ **for an investigation, and I couldn’t ignore its magnetic pull.

“Lookit!” I exclaimed, bumping into Francis like a pinball as mystery filled me with a much-needed sense of excitement. “I bet it’s a Library! Lucky Student intuition!”

His eyes widened with mock-incredulousness. “A Library, in a **_school?_** ” he gasped, “By God, I never thought I’d see the day!”

“...You don’t talk to people much, do you?”

“Oh no, definitely not. Frankly I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.”

Giving him a teasing, side-eyed glance, I bounded towards the two doors and lay my palms flat-out against the wood, pushing gently, if only to not break the sacred silence. But to my surprise, it refused to give way. Probably on account of the fact that it was much, much heavier than I’d expected, so heavy, in fact, that it took every ounce of strength I had to goad it into cracking open a sliver. I had to suck in my gut to wiggle through the impossibly slim gap, and even then, my battered ribs moaned their complaints as they scraped against wood. Francis, though, he fit just fine. You could’ve sworn he compressed his bones like a mouse. 

Once we’d forced our way inside, my suspicions were confirmed by the musty aroma of old books wafting through the air thick as the pages themselves, so deathly still it felt as if it hadn’t changed in years, decades even, and we could pretend to be archaeologists prying open a decrepit crypt for the first time since the days of ancient Egypt. The tucked-away hollow was jam-packed with shelves lined up like dominoes, each holding spine-worn books jutting out like old teeth or piled up in muted rainbow stacks. To our right, sat a reception desk, lonely without it’s bespectacled librarian. To our left, a sea of misshapen beanbag chairs covered the floor in a multi-coloured mass. For a moment, I came close to tricking myself into believing I’d seen something hidden within its rolls, something...moving? Something... ** _alive?_ **

That’s when a high-pitched “ _eeeeeeeeeeee_ ” struck my ears like bits of broken glass, hauling my attention to the center of the room. There, I laid eyes on the most **_massive_** globe I’d ever seen, elephant-like in girth, one that had begun to spin without prompting until it whirled around and around in a green-blue blur and I braced myself for it to rocket right off its hinges and crush me beneath its overwhelming weight. How curious! Or perhaps...supernatural?

“A ghost!” I squeaked. A chill swept through me and my stomach plummeted into my shoes as I realized it might have heard me, and I mashed my hands over my mouth before anything more could slip out. 

Francis, on the other hand, proved to be a bit less spiritual. “I’m pretty sure that’s still just the air conditioning,” he said, but for all his nonchalance, in that moment his eyes grew dark as all of his self-assurance drained straight away. "...Or a trap.”

“A trap?” I echoed, my curiosity piqued. But in giving our surroundings a quick one-over, I couldn’t say I saw a single hint of treachery eeking out from some shadowy hiding spot, no loops of rope or half-concealed tripwire ready to ensnare us the second we dared to tread too close. And besides, what kind of a silly thought was that? What would anyone possibly have to gain from...oh my gosh. “Really, Francis? **_Again_ **with the “free-for-all” talk? You’re such a goof!”

“ ** _I’m_** being rational. **_You’re_** being naive. Look over there…” His voice dropped to a mere whisper as he ducked down low, rambling like a crazed conspiracy theorist as he pointed to a bookcase with its end hidden by the globe. “I’d bet you anything someone’s hiding back there waiting for some hapless dumbass to waltz right up so they can grab them.”

I gave his theory some thought...about two seconds worth. “ _That’s ridiculous! But it’s not his fault...he probably can’t help thinking like that. I bet all he needs is a little reassurance!_ ”

“I can go check if you want! I’ll **_prove_ **to you there’s nothing to be afraid of! And even if there is a trap, as the people who found it, isn’t it our duty to deactivate it?” 

Francis frowned deeply, in no way reassured. “First of all, I’m pretty sure “deactivating” a person is called murder. Second of all, what did I **_just_ **say about being a hapless dumbass?”

“You said I’d be one! And jokes on you, I’m totally ready to take that bullet for the team!”

“...Can’t argue with that logic. Knock yourself out.”

I decided to go ahead and mark that down as a victory! Bursting with confidence, I sauntered right up to that globe with my head held high and my shoulders firmly squared, dripping with performative nonchalance. “ _There’s no ghost! There’s no trap!_ ” I silently assured myself, wishing a part of my own optimism would rub off on him, “ _Look at me, Francis! See how calm I am? You were right the first time, it’s probably just the air conditioning playing tricks on our minds!_ ”

At last, I arrived, dwarfed at the feet of a globe that stood as tall as three Sylvias stacked up on each other’s shoulders. The sheer intimidation it radiated sent a sour pang coursing through my stomach, but I refused to let it show in green-tinted skin or a tremble down my arm. When I reached out, it was with a steady hand, one that burned red-hot at its fingertips as it dragged the globe to a halt that left it wobbling on its stand. And that was it. Easy-peasy! Bubbling with triumph, I turned back to Francis with a cheeky grin and two thumbs-up.

“Tah-dah! See? There’s nothing to worry about, everything’s right as rai-”

“ ** _BOO!_** ”

My teeth snapped shut, clipping off my final word as a booming shout made my heart seize up with terror, close to giving out entirely as a black-and-yellow blur shot out from behind the bookcase with their hands outstretched and their lips pulled back in a snarl, showing off teeth that might as well have been sharp as a lion’s for all I knew. A shriek tore past my throat as I leapt into the air like a startled rabbit. But I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the floor the moment they hit it. Only at the last moment did my instinct kick in, sending me cartwheeling to the ground with my hands folded over my head as my attacker rammed into me full-force with a muffle grunt of surprise. They might have regained their footing if it wasn’t for Francis, who swooped in from out of nowhere and clocked them upside the head with the thickest book on the shelf. 

“Ow! Fuck!” they cried, toppling to the ground in a graceless, crumpled heap, thick black hair splayed out all around them like a halo.

I stared down at them, my mind crawling back to regular time with all the speed of molasses. Francis took the opportunity to skirt their stilled form and race to my side like a knight in shining armor, brandishing his book as both a weapon and a shield. In retrospect, he looked more silly than he did gallant. But in that moment he was nothing short of heroic in my awestruck eyes.

After a moment’s respite, the stranger rolled onto their back with a groan of pain, one that, oddly enough, morphed into a chuckle as they grinned lazily up as us with their hands folded behind their head. That’s when I recognized her. She was the nameless girl with the leather jacket decked out in buttons, her words steeped in the same faded Australian accent as before. Her hair fell around her shoulders in tight corkscrew curls, somewhat frizzy, as if she’d been experimenting with it, and the ends held a faint golden tinge reminiscent of a dye that had long since faded.

She stretched, dark skin showing through the fashionable tears in her navy blue jean shorts. Her pockets were stuffed with either thin cigarettes or lollipop sticks, and her black combat boots not only rose halfway up her legs, but sported a well-polished hunters knife strapped to the side, visible to all. I flinched at the sight of it. How would Francis react to sticking around with someone **_armed_ **, skittish as he was? I cast him a nervous glance, only to watch as his eyes trailed from her face, to the t-shirt hidden beneath her leather jacket, prompting him to throw his book aside with an expression both unafraid and unimpressed.

“Nevermind, she’s not a threat,” he declared, rather confident for someone who had just assaulted his classmate with _Signing Made Easy: A Complete Program for Learning and Using Sign Language in Everyday Life_ , “She’s wearing a Fallout Boy shirt.”

The stranger stuck her tongue at him. “Aw, put a sock in it. I forgot to do my laundry, this thing’s older than dirt.”

“That’s a real shame. Did you miss out on wearing your “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” hoodie?”

“The fact that you said “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” instead of something about The Black Parade makes me think you’ve **_definitely_** had a MCR phase at some point. Can’t pork pie your way out of **_that_** one, mate.” She gave a long, jaw-cracking yawn before Francis could summon a retort. Then she closed her mouth, licked her lips, and nodded towards the bookshelf, crooking her finger at some unseen thing over my shoulder. “You can come out now, Sparky. Told you there ain’t nothing to worry about.”

On-cue, I heard a muted shuffling as a new figure emerged from behind the bookshelves, inquisitive emerald eyes trained on us with a meek sense of curiosity rather than fear. A cautiousness slowed his steps, however, one that kept him rooted to the spot. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, though with his brown skin and rounded red glasses they were nearly impossible to make out, and an adorable straw hat was perched above his short, soft golden-blond hair with a ladybug button clipped to the sea green ribbon around its base. It wasn’t all too difficult to guess where he might have gotten it.

From there to his feet, head to toe, he was dressed in a rather peculiar way, seemingly prepped for outdoor work, but only if you gave his outfit a brief one-over. His white-and-green striped shirt would be muddied in seconds, and the denim overalls he had it tucked beneath might as well have been **_asking_ **to be smeared with grass stains, proved best, perhaps, by the baked-on splotches of half-dried dirt plastered on the knees and rimmed around the cuffs. His pockets were still filled with gardening tools, however, stained by years of work, and, while whether or not it was for gardening I couldn’t quite tell, a tawney-coloured suitcase decorated with sunflower stickers bumbled along behind him on chipped wheels. He smelled strongly of earth and apple tea, and I liked him instantly.

“Hello there,” I greeted this so-called “Sparky” with a quiet, subtle warmth I hoped would draw him out, and introduced both my companion and I. It did little to ease his hesitation. Instead of offering his name, he simply nodded, polite, but distant. 

“Yeah, the bloke doesn’t talk much,” the girl remarked as she heaved herself to her feet, flashing Sparky an apologetic smile on the off chance she offended him. Instead of words, he responded with movement. At first I thought they were simple gestures, then wondered, briefly, if Ultimates had gone so far as to establish a secret code between themselves like children running wild in the empty summer months. **_Then_ **I came to my senses, realizing at last that he was using sign language. 

“Oh!” I gasped, clapping my hands together gleefully as an old memory resurfaced at just the right time. “Wait wait wait! I learned how to sign my name once! Let me introduce myself, please?”

The girl broke off her signing, regarding me with a half-cocked grin of amusement. “Sure,” she shrugged, “Knock yourself out.”

“Yay! Thanks!” Smiling ear-to-ear, I took a bouncing step towards Emmet as my mind whirled with the effort of dredging up knowledge I’d kept filed away for a very, very long time. Clear away the debris, and there it was. Waiting all this time to come in handy, burning bright in my head as its chance finally arrived. 

S (I curled my fist, thumb folded over my middle finger)

Y (My thumb and pinky finger stuck out while the rest remained tightly closed)

L (A left-handed L)

V (Peace sign)

I (Pinky finger up)

A (One last curl of the fist, thumb pressed against my index finger)

Sparky’s eyes lit up with recognition. _Sylvia_. A warm thrill of delight filled my chest like down feather (even as the girl caught Sparky’s attention, correcting any mistakes I’d made with a quick, fluid dance of her hands). Shame I hadn’t a clue how to sign Francis’ name, but as I looked to him, seeing how he basked in anonymity like a lizard in a sunbeam, I had the feeling he wasn’t all too broken up about the girl having to sign his name for Sparky rather than have it thrown back in his face the moment he stepped foot into a room. For once, he seemed at peace.

“I’m Sheela, by the way,” the girl chimed in, and though her tone was light, she placed hard emphasis on every pronunciation as she angled her head ever-so-slightly towards Sparky, just enough so he could keep watch on the movement of her lips. “I guess youse can call me the Ultimate Meteorologist. That’s my official title, anyways, but I’ll take Stormchaser if you’re up for humoring me. What’s the point of boxing yourself up in a lab when a real blinder’s tearing up the town, you know?”

Francis blinked, slow and purposeful as if he’d been lost in a daydream. “Wait, what? Call me crazy, but I think the point is that you stay **_alive_**.”

Sheela gave a roll of her eyes, blatantly unimpressed. But to her credit, where others had snapped, he brushed Francis off with nothing more biting than a chuckle. “You sound like Sparky. Oh, hey, I almost forgot…” She paused, backpedaling towards a bewildered Sparky so she could toss an arm over his shoulders and give him a playful shake, her grin calming him, so he settled into her touch with ease. “This pretty little sook here is Emmet Sparks, the Ultimate Botanist. Managed to get that out of him before he clamed up for good.”

Emmet smiled. He didn’t sign a thing. 

What an odd fellow. He had the aura of an old, cottage-dwelling hermit living deep within the heart of the forest, spending his days in solitude, content with the company of snaking vines and overlapping racks of ivy that curl and slither and consume every inch of his moss-licked house until it becomes one with nature, just like him. What if, I wondered, that was the cause of his quiet demeanor? Of course he wasn’t used to talking, none of his “coworkers” had much to say.

“A botanist, huh? Isn’t that sort of like biology? That’s neat! Really, really neat…” I trailed off, eyes flickering from Sheela to Emmet. Would she transcribe? Could he read my lips? Neither option seemed fair, both leaving me to bank solely on the abilities of another, and in the end, I could only putter off into an awkward silence.

Sheela picked up on it, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in a sympathetic smile. “Sorta, yeah. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it's uh...it’s a **_branch_** of biology. Right Sparky?” She ruffled her friend’s hat, teasing dripping from her words. “It **_stems_** off. C’mon, you know you love it. It was only a matter of time before someone **_rose_** to the occasion, anyways. Hope this doesn’t put a damper on our **_budding_** friendship.”

Poor Emmet didn’t stand a chance. A giggled escaped him and he turned to her with a friendly retort dancing on the tip of his tongue...until realization struck. Suddenly, his warmth vanished and he snapped his jaw shut, pure horror pulling his eyes wide until he had to duck his head, hiding his expression from view. Unwinding himself from Sheela, he slunk into the bookcases with his suitcase trailing sadly after him, vanishing without so much as a hint as to **_why_**. Sheela watched him leave in silence. From the way she shook her head, I knew it hadn’t surprised her, but it hadn’t been what she’d hoped for, either.

“Poor bloke’s shy as hell,” she sighed, but confusion soon swept her dismay clean away, her lips pulled tight in a frown. “...I think. Earlier he was more than happy to chat so long as he had someone to listen. Now he’ll hardly talk to me.”

Francis and I exchanged a knowing look. My wrist burned, the once cool metal biting into it, eliciting a itchy sensation just to remind me it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Turning to Sheela, I felt oddly guilty about the knowledge I had, as if by calling attention to the words scrawled across our bracelet screens, I was somehow claiming responsibility for them. My words were meek when I spoke, “Do you think it has something to do with our bracelets?”

It took a moment for recognition to flood her features, her hand trailing instinctively to the device clasped around her arm as slowly, surely, she nodded. “Yeah...that’s probably it. I don’t know what’ll happen if we do what’s on ‘em, but it sure looks like Sparky isn’t too keen on taking chances. Can you blame him?” She blew a sharp breath through her teeth, ruffling her hair with a new edge of frustration. “This whole damn mountain’s gone bloody cactus. All I’ve got to go on is what’s on my bracelet. Here, come take a look…”

Unbothered by whatever secret she held falling under prying eyes, she rolled up the slick black sleeve of her jacket as Francis and I stepped forwards, seeking out the text scrawled across her bracelet screen in familiar, clunky text…

**PUNCH A CONTESTANT**

“Contestant,” Francis said, his tone edged with faintly-concealed worry. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“You don’t like the sound of **_anything_** ,” I shot back. But my humor shook, built on an unsteady base so cracks raced through it like time-worn concrete and fear pushed its way through in spades. 

This couldn’t possibly be some elaborate game show, could it? Was some big-shot celebrity with perfectly trimmed nails, teeth white as snow, and fine gossamer clothing hiding in the shadows, waiting for **_just_ ** the right moment to leap out and announce we’d been made fools of in front of the entire country? Would I hear a laugh track, loud and mocking and all-consuming, leak from the walls as cameras jut out from every angle? The very thought sent nausea crawling up my throat. How much would this plot I’d been thrust into thicken? How many sinister twists and turns would I face until I found myself staring down the face of true evil? I didn’t want this. I **_never_ **wanted this. I only ever came to Hope’s Peak for...for…

...Why was I here again?

“Something wrong, kid?”

Sheela’s voice brought me back to reality, and I snapped my head upright (I never realized I’d hung it), mustering the brightest smile I possibly could. “I’m fine! Of course I’m fine, I’m just...thinking. Yes, I’m thinking…” I fidgeted with my hoodie strings, wracking my brain for an excuse until I managed to pop an idea into place, “We should probably warn everyone about their bracelets, right? Otherwise they might think it’s some kind of instruction, and then there’s no telling what’ll happen!”

Even with the strength of my (somewhat spontaneous) conviction striking her square in the face, Sheela merely shrugged, shoving her hands, and her bracelet, into her pockets. “Eh. I **_guess_ **you’re right, but it’s not like we’ve got proof. As far as we know, it’s a 50/50 gamble. Who’s to say we’re right?”

A beat of silence passed between us. Then, cautiously, I ventured, “You wanna punch me and find out?”

She reared back, eyes wide with surprise until a grin broke out across her face and she struggled to reign in a fit of laughter, giving me a somewhat rouge, joking shove, “Ha! I bet you’re fun at parties,” she snickered, still humorous as she continued, “Look, if you’re **_really_ **dead-set on this, then you might as well start with the kid passed out cold on a beanbag chair over in the corner. Sparky and I were gonna hit the road ages ago, but the poor sook looked so helpless we decided to stick around until she came to. You know, to make sure she’s not too frightened when she wakes up.”

Wow! Three classmates in one room, that had to be a record! I opened my mouth to thank her, but the screeching whine of old and rusted hinges cut me off, and in near-perfect sync we swung our heads towards the source to catch a fleeting image of a brown-haired, pigtailed figure slipping through a gap in the too-heavy door. Ah. I should’ve known I’d jinx myself.

“Check that,” Francis muttered, “Figures, with our luck.”

Sheela’s grin curled, turning rueful. “Ah shit, sorry about that. Guess I’m not cut out for being a watchman. But if you’re looking for a challenge, I’d bet you Blue hasn’t gotten too far. She only burst in here about twenty minutes ago, sopping wet and screaming like a banshee. Apparently that “Headmaster” of ours dumped her in the pool...she uh, she didn’t find it too funny. I think her name was...Ruth? Ruth Akagi...or something. She’s the one who was giving you a rough time earlier today.

Ah. Well, Sheela **_had_ **said it would be a challenge. “Thanks! I think. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll mellow out by the time we reach her.”

Francis raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I dunno about that. Take it from me, people like that don’t mellow. They **_stew_**.”

With that lovely little anecdote, we took to the road. Sheela waved a lazy goodbye, calling, “Gnarly, see you later,” as we left the stuffy, dust-riddled air of the Library behind us. As I peeped over my shoulder, I could see Emmet’s bright eyes shining through gaps in the bookshelves like tiny, emerald stars. He smiled. I returned it. Then the two disappeared, gone from my sight as my companion and I re-entered the night.

The overhead lights blinked like ever-watching eyes as Francis and I slunk down the deserted hallway, their buzzing bee hums grating on the already frayed ends of my composure. We-well- ** _I_** had grown quiet with the arrival of night. There’s a universal safety about the sun, an idea that its light can chase off slimy low-lifes making grabs at your purse in back alleyways and otherworldly beings that seep into every cast shadow, watching, waiting until moonlight pours down and the world is theirs for the taking. Isn’t that a silly thought? Misfortune doesn’t care about atmosphere. Even if **_I_** did, shaking in my shoes at every little gurgle, creak, or groan as the school settled into the mountain.

“ _Come on, pull it together!_ ” I told myself, a sharp, internal whisper, “ _It’s not like this place is haunted, who dies in a school?_ ”

But thinking is one thing. **_Believing_** is another.

“...Do you think we’ll find our dorm rooms soon?” I asked my companion. If I couldn’t have the sun, a warm, plush blanket might as well be an oasis curled up in the depths of a desert. 

He gave a non-committal hum, neither comforting or out-right dejecting. Until something caught his eye, lighting a spark of interest, and I followed his trail of sight to find a sturdy, silver-grey door a mere hop, skip, and a jump away at the turning point of the hallway. My heart skipped a beat ( _ba-ba-BUMP)_. Together we broke out in a beeline towards the door reminiscent of our race against the indoor rain, and I might’ve cracked a joke if I wasn’t so preoccupied willing our dorm rooms into existence, or even a kitchen, or even a completely empty room, save for a couch to crash on before I completely puttered out...anything, but what we found, a sign reading:

STORAGE ROOM.

“For fuck’s sake,” Francis groaned, stumbling to a halt before yet another disappointment. His strength deserted him, leaving his knees to buckle precariously beneath his own weight, his eyes red-rimmed and drooping, and I felt a surge of pity I knew he wouldn’t want, but sunk into all the same. 

“Look on the bright side,” I, somewhat half-heartedly, suggested, “We might as well check inside while we’re here. Maybe we’ll find one of those mini cars little kids drive around, that’ll give your legs a break!”

“...I seriously can't tell if you're joking or not.” He shook his head, regarding me with a rather dubious eye. “Besides, every time you suggest going into a room, something awful, ridiculous, or ridiculously awful happens.”

I scoffed at that. “Don’t be silly! So we’ve had some cuts, scrapes, and...minor bruisings along the road…” I shrugged, itchy fingers already gravitating towards the door handles until I felt the sensation of smooth metal against my skin. “I know I’ve probably said this before, but I really have a good feeling about this! You can call me crazy all you want, but I think our luck’s about change right... ** _now!_** ”

Ignoring both Francis’ concerns and the increasing pattern of disaster that followed us everywhere we went, I flung open the doors with one, great swing of the arms only to come face-to-face with a hulking, teetering mound of whiteness that gave away before I had the chance to react, hitting me square in the face, arms, chest, **_everywhere_** in an avalanche of fluff. 

“ ** _Pillows?!_** ”

A strangled yelp of surprise escaped me, drowned within a wave of cotton that knocked me flat-out on my back. Like snow, I couldn’t escape it, packed over my chest with the weight of a mountain. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breath. I could only cling to my last thread of consciousness, moments from submitting to my fluffy demise…

Suddenly, the pillows around me rustled as a pair of hands drove past them, groping for my shoulders as they sunk their fingers into the loose fabric of my hoodie and lugged me out into the open. Francis! I hit fresh air gasping like a newborn kitten, feebly batting those cursed pillows away until his hold slipped, and he couldn’t regain it in time. My migraine erupted with a new ferocity as I crashed against the floor, my vision eaten up by the same, snowy white as the pillows that had engulfed me. Francis swore under his breath. Spilling apologies, he hit the ground beside me with his chest heaving from exertion, and as my senses returned, I let the sound of his voice tether me to consciousness. 

“What...the... **_fuck?_** ” he spluttered, his eyes trained on the heap of pillows in front of us with an unsettling intensity, as if he could set it alight by the power of thought alone. “Fucking... ** _why?_** Why in the absolute fluffy hell would anyone need this many pillows!?” He buried his face in his hands, teetering on the brink of an absolute meltdown. 

I hardly heard him. My head hurt. My ear hurt. Pain led to dizziness and dizziness led to nausea. It’d be a miracle if I managed to push myself upright without sending the whole world spinning like a merry-go-round. “I give up,” I moaned, draping a hand over my eyes to block out the too-bright lights, “I’ve been bested. I surrender. I admit defeat. If I live to see tomorrow, I am **_definitely_ **listening to you like...30% more.”

He made an odd sound at that, wheezing like an old dog on its last legs. I didn’t really know where to go with that. So I left him to rake up the broken pieces of his patience in silence, allowing my attention to wander to the mess I’d made of the hallway, pillows bleeding feathers all over the floor with so many more stacked inside the Storage Room it blocked off the entrance completely. So much for a mini car…

Then something caught my eye.

Smack in the middle of the heap, a handful of pillows had begun to move, rising and falling in a smooth, steady rhythm, almost as if they were...breathing? Could it be?”

“Oh my gosh! Francis! Look!” Fighting off the vertigo swimming in my head, I not only staggered to my own feet, but looped my arm around Francis’ as I hauled him into yet another investigation, hurrying towards the strange disturbance as it, all at once, stilled. I got in close, real close, the tip of my nose brushing up against the silk pillowcases. And then **_BAM!_** It happened so fast! A hand burst from the depths of the pillowy prison like a snake shooting forth to capture its prey, jaws unhinged as it prepared to swallow me whole.

“ ** _AAAAAAAAAAAAH!_** Monster! Monster!”

I sprang back in a heart-stopping panic, ducking behind Francis as if somehow, the Ultimate **_Chef_ ** was supposed to be equipped to protect me from a viscous, man-eating beast. Terrified as I was, my eyes were latched onto the creature. It flailed madly about without rhyme or reason to its movements, wild, but harmless, clawing only against the pillows with desperate nails leaving ghost-like scratches behind. Its movements felt...familiar. It was **_almost_ **like I’d been in the exact same situation mere minutes before…

“Oh great, another one of these assholes,” Francis remarked, dry as ever (although even he refused to move closer), “I swear, these people pop up like weeds.”

I didn’t understand. But then I blinked, and what I’d thought of as a threat became nothing more than a hand, trapped and afraid, weakening as we stood idly by, dumbstruck, and utterly useless. “Oh my goodness! What are we waiting for? We have to help them!”

I refused to wait for a response, diving headlong into the throng of pillows as I shoveled my way through them like a madwoman in a scramble to save my poor, unfortunate classmate, feathers spat out in every direction falling like snow all around us. Francis joined in, once the shock had worn off, jolted into action by a spark sent to kick-start his torn and tired heart. But even with our forces combined, we were powerless. With every one pillow tossed aside, two more tumbled down to take their place, and soon enough my face flushed, my hoodie grew hot, and my limbs screeched out their exhaustion until I thought for sure they’d give out entirely. If they did, our classmate was as good as dead.

“Fuck. I can’t believe I’m going to have to…” Francis grunted, his lips tight in a grimace as he bunched his muscles and leapt onto the pile, flinging himself against the wall of queued-up pillows so his body became a makeshift dam. 

I flung the last stragglers away, and in an instant a second hand burst from the pile and latched onto my wrist like a lifeline. They held on for dear life as I backpedaled, straining to drag them to freedom until finally, **_finally_** , a massive, blue-orange blur burst from the pile with a strangled gasp, their eyes bright and bulging against the hallway lights. Suddenly, the metaphorical carpet was yanked out from under Francis’ feet. I caught sight of him cartwheeling down the side of the miniature mountain right before a booming laugh hit me like a blast from a stereo cranked to the max, and I found myself swept up off my feet by the freed stranger as they spun about merrily.

“Thank you so much!” he cheered, his voice deep, but warm, and lit up with pure euphoria. “Thank you thank you thank you! I thought I was a goner! You two are my heroes!”

I giggled, dizzy from a noxious mix of exhaustion and confusion. “Oh! Um, you’re welcome!”

Still clutching me tight in his grasp, the boy set his sights on Francis and rushed towards him with one arm swung wide open for a hug...oh no. I tried to warn him that attempting to hug my companion would be like picking a stray alley cat up by the scruff of its neck, but he mustn't have heard. Or maybe I never had the breath to speak. Either way, he would have nabbed Francis if he hadn’t caught on to what was happening and skittered out of the way, jumping up on his feet just to raise his arms in surrender.

“Alright, alright, let’s not do anything hasty,” he pleaded, pressing his palms together with a taunt, nervous grin, “We can talk this out, right? No need to do anything we might regret..” His eyes fell to me. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened so it was no longer begging, but demanding, “Now drop **_it_ ** and drop **_her_**.”

The new classmates hesitated, frozen in place by Francis’ nervous ramblings. “R-Right!” he stammered, laughing once more in a sheepish manner as he hurriedly dropped me to the floor, his hands clapped over my shoulders as he inspected me for signs of damage. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

He hadn’t. Of **_course_ **he hadn’t. But he could have, I supposed. Though hidden by sleeves, I’d felt the full force of muscles wrapped around me tight as ship’s cables, but in no way shape or form could I ever imagine him using them for anything more than helping old ladies carry groceries to their cars or lifting trees off the homes of tiny woodland creatures. Especially as he smiled, and his rounded, friendly face shone so brightly I almost had to look away.

He held an air of warmth to him, sweet as citrus. Maybe it came from his colours, the creamsicle orange hoodie popping out against his dark skin, sliced in two by a baby blue band that ran from his shoulder to the opposite hip and bordered by two thinner white stripes, and blueberry boxer shorts that reflected the light as if covered in thin layer of film. Ah...not **_boxer_** shorts, of course, but a **_boxer’s_** shorts. That was my first hint. The second, the band-aid plastered over his nose. The third, the medical tape wrapped around his knuckles. The forth, and most obvious, the shiny, never-before-used boxer’s gloves dangling from a string at his waste. 

But none of that mattered. No, what captured my attention most was the shock of short, fluffy hair that poofed and curled and swirled around his ears…“Hey! Same hair!” I cried, pointing to his marshmallow-coloured mop.

His grin turned borderline ecstatic. “Same hair!”

Francis, meanwhile, seemed about as far from smiling as a guy could get. “Oh my god,” he mumbled under his breath, sounding dazed, and more than a little confused, “There’s two of them…” He gave his head a brisk shake to snap himself from his stupor. “Nevermind. So how’d you end up like **_that?_** I’d bet Lucky Charms could’ve gotten herself out eventually, and she doesn’t have the advantage of your-” he gestured vaguely to the boy, “-weird, grown adult body.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh Francis, you know I just **_love_** it when you compliment me at the expense of others.”

Hughes chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Clearly, we hadn’t caught him at his best. “It's kind of a funny story, actually. You guys came here the same way I did, Right? With the slide? Well **_mine_** dropped me right on top of this massive pile of pillows, which sounds like a good idea in theory, but man! Those things are hard to balance on, and even worse to try and escape! I tried that thing where you lay on your back, you know, like you’re supposed to do with quicksand, but, well, it didn’t **_exactly_** turn out the way I wanted it to. But that’s where you two come in! Speaking of which, I haven’t even introduced myself!”

He grinned broadly, taking, no, **_enveloping_ **my hand in a brisk, gentlemanly shake. How polite! He even kept his distance from Francis, giving him a no less friendly nod that he returned, pleasantly surprised. “My name’s Hughes! I know I’m the Ultimate Boxer, but I’m really not as rough as you might think. So please, don’t be intimidated by me.”

Needless to say, I absolutely **_adored_ **that human ball of sunshine. And yet Francis never settled, tensing up once again at the sound of his own title as I introduced ourselves with no small amount of hesitance, wincing at the sight of Hughes’ eyes dancing with familiarity. Had he seen the “broadcast”? Followed Lucy’s campaign? The possibilities were endless, far as I was aware. Even the sweetest honey fills up with flies one day. 

“Hey, come on now, there’s no need to be so formal. We’re all Ultimates here. Besides…” He hesitated, his jaw slack as if words he wasn’t all too sure of were trying to pry their way out of his mouth. “I, uh, kind of read up on you two early. The Monopad’s surprisingly thorough! Kind of creepy, really...oh, but it wasn’t just you! There’s Sheela Bennet, Francine Hagihara, Ruth Akagi…”

“Wait wait wait, did you just say Ruth Akagi?” I interjected, my interest piqued, “We’re looking for someone with the exact name! That’s gotta be her, right? What did the Monpad say?”

“Ruth? She’s the Ultimate Animator, 5’5”, loves cartoons, hates slow internet…last time I checked the map she was heading somewhere called The Dome.”

“The Dome, huh? I bet that’s what’s at the end of the other hallway!” My exhaustion forgotten, I turned to Francis with a cheek-splitting grin and saw his own expression sag with relief, cautiously optimistic that our journey was coming to a close. “Is it just me, or does that sound like a **_hub?_** You know what I think? I think we’ve got a mystery on our hands, and The Dome is the best place to start looking for answers! Lucky Student intuition!”

“Lucky Student intuition,” he echoed. “Sure, why not? What do we have to lose?”

“That’s the spirit! I always knew you’re not a total stick-in-the-mud!”

Hughes watched, amused, breaking into our little back-and-forth as he cleared his throat in a bid for our attention. “So I guess you’ll be heading there together, huh? Do you think, if it’s not too much to ask, you could make room for one more?”

I snapped my head around to face him, astonished. “You’re kidding!” I yelped, just a little too loudly, “No one ever wants to come with us! We’d be happy to have you, it’s as they always say, the more the merrier!”

“They also say three’s a crowd,” Francis remarked, “But in an emergency, he’d make a great meat shield.”

“Francis! You’re gonna scare him away if you say stuff like that! Don’t worry Hughes, I promise we’ll never use you as a shield, meat or otherwise!”

He laughed at that, his lopsided grin illuminating the hallway better than the overhead lights ever could. “Thanks...I think. But I’m not too worried. I spent half the afternoon smothered under a giant mound of pillows, as far as I’m concerned, whatever happens, it’s all uphill from here!”

We didn’t discover much down the rest of the hallway. We’d bled most of the school (well, that part of it anyways) dry, stripped it bare of the surprises it sprung forth like lines of defense. I, of course, say that with the exception of what we could only assume was a pair of horribly cliched bathrooms, one pink, the other blue, that we came across no more than half a minute after we set off, locked tight and under heavy surveillance by both an average, everyday camera and a not so average, not so everyday pair of machine guns with nozzles wide enough to take your head clean off. Needless to say, we decided against investigating further. Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. 

“God, I hope this is it,” Francis groaned as we rounded the courtyard corner, his feet scuffing against the floor with every step as if he could not possibly lift them any higher. Though he hid it, lagging behind when need be and weaving expertly in and out of sight, I’d caught onto how close he’d come to collapsing, pausing every now and again to lean against the wall for a brief spurt of support. He needed to rest, and he needed it soon. As he so expertly put it: “I can only put up with so much bullshit a day, and here I am, stuck in bullshit central.”

Hughes made an effort to comfort him now and again. “Cheer up, bud,” he said with a grin, raising his arm for a hearty pat on the back only to let it fall once he found himself on the receiving end of Francis’ icy glare. Still, he persisted, “Think of it like a camping trip!”

“Since when is that a **_good_ **thing?” Francis shot back. Then his mouth quivered, stifling a wicked curl of the lips. “You know...the sprinkler system’s out of order. If we can’t find our dorm rooms tonight, there’s nothing stopping you from cooking us up a little campfire while I scout out somewhere to sleep.”

Hughes’ smile didn’t waver. “If you’re sure...I guess I don’t see why not!” the unshakable optimist chirped. But he hung back as Francis sauntered onwards on unsteady feet, whispering to me, “Are the sprinklers **_really_ **out of order?”

I shook my head. 

“Your friend’s kind of a jerk, huh?”

“A little bit. But I like to think of him as a fruit gusher, chewy on the outside, gooey on the inside!”

“...No offense, Sylv, but that's just about the worst way I'd ever heard someone being described.”

We fell into silence. It should have been peaceful, a chance to relax, to catch our breath, to let our shoulders sag and feel the age-old knots loosen and release, but no matter how I scrabbled against my own racing mind I couldn’t seem to screw my own head on straight. All day I’d been living on auto-pilot, running around with my switch flipped on fight-or-flight mode. Only then did I begin to feel the effects of an adrenaline crash.

I’d been living in a hazy, dream-like state for so long, unable to accept the gravity of our situation. Snapping back to reality might as well have been a snap of the neck. Everything **_hit_** with a new intensity, wave after wave of sensation amplified as if felt through a magnifying glass, the lights bright as miniature stars drilling holes into my retinas, the hallway alive with a hundred hums, clicks, whirrs, creaks, and groans, each tearing my ears in a different direction until I thought for sure they’d split clean in two. I stumbled on my feet. The noise they made almost sent me plummeting over the edge. I hadn’t had one of my...moments, for so long. Why then, did my stomach choose to rip itself to pieces right then and there? Didn’t it have faith? I was going to find The Dome. I was going to be ok. I was going to be ok…

“Hold on,” Hughes’ voice buzzed at the edge of my consciousness as he abruptly threw out his arm in front of me, chasing Francis behind him like a sheepdog to its flock, “I think I see someone up ahead.”

A distraction. Swallowing every thought that dared to make me tremble, I stuffed the static filling my headspace as far back as I could and brushed off Hughes’ caution with a wave of the hand, ducking under his arm as I stepped towards this mysterious “someone”. “Hughes, Hughes, Hughes, you don’t know how our little group works yet! You see, we always make sure to approach everyone we meet in a calm and friendly manner, that way we can-”

“I think they have a weapon!”

Time froze. And when it thawed, I’d scrambled back behind Hughes’ arm as my mind reeled with what he’d said. “Wait, **_what!?_** What do you mean they have a weapon!?”

In a moment of bravery (or foolishness, depending on who you asked), I dared to peer beyond my self-appointed protector, and the moment I did, a scene I’d hoped never to lay eyes on began to play out in front of me in a way so bizarre, so utterly detached from the world I’d come to know I could almost squint and pretend it was nothing more than a movie’s projector image, or even a trick of the light, anything, but reality. From the darkened hallway before us, a lithe, trembling figure slunk forwards, veiled in shadows so she was little more than one herself. A creature of darkness. A voyager of the night. My breath hitched, heart going haywire with every step she took, closing in the gap between us with heavy, staggering steps until she was mere feet away. She raised her hands. They were shivering, close to breaking, and in them, clutched so tightly her knuckles turned white, the light glinted off the smooth metallic surface of something near-indistinguishable, something **_sharp_ **. My stomach lurched as if I’d been punched in the gut. 

“Stay back!” she screeched. Her voice shook with fright, but not indecision. She’d already accepted whatever might come to pass. “I am armed! And I will not hesitate to fight!”

That voice...I **_knew_ ** that voice. And not only that, but her...her **_everything_ ** came as such an achingly familiar sight. I remembered her lab coat, pristine white, too big for her body, her ruffled, baby blue blouse and pleated black shirt. Her long silver hair. Her ice chip eyes. I forced a smile, hoping, **_praying_ **for recognition to soften the animalistic terror sharpening her very being as I stepped out from behind Hughes once again with wide, accepting eyes. “Hey! I remember you! Do you remember me? We met in the classroom, it’s me, Sylvia Ha-”

“I said stay **_back!_** ”

She did not slip delicately from the shadows like waves lapping at white sand beaches. No, she crashed against the shoreline with all the strength and fury of a tsunami, her blade slashing through the air in a deadly silver-white blur, lips curled in a feral snarl, hair sticking to the sweat on her skin. Her mind had taken a backseat to animal impulses and, somehow, I knew she understood this just as well as I did. The difference between us was that she simply didn’t care.

I swallowed. My throat felt thick, as though it had filled with fear clamoring to escape my body. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s ok!” I croaked, my voice hoarse and wholly unconvincing. “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise. Everyone here is just as terrified as you are! Put down that weapon, and we’re all on the same side!” 

She laughed at that, a hollow sound, wicked if not for its emptiness. “Are you joking? You really think that’s all it takes? Some flowery prose is supposed to make everything better, to make me trust you, to change the very makeup of this entire situation? No...no that’s not how it **_works_**.” She gripped her weapon tighter, swinging it between my companions and I as she decided who to aim for first.

A Boxer.  
A Lucky Student.   
And a Chef.

…

She lingered on the Chef.

But that wasn’t right. That wasn’t **_fair_**. 

I don’t fully remember what happened next, or rather, why what happened... **_happened_**. In a trance, spellbound by that strange girl and a deep, primal need to help, to protect, to be the one with their life on the line, I left the safety of Hughes’ side, ignored Francis’ rough, snapping **_pleads_** for me to stop (“ _What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed! Wait, hey! Lucky Charms!_ ** _Wait!_** ”), and made my way towards her, sliding my backpack from my shoulders, disarming myself. It took her aback. I took my chance. Raising my arms, I folded them behind my back and bent down on my knees before her. 

If anyone was going to put themselves in danger, it would have to be me.   
The Ultimate Lucky Student. 

I often wonder what she thought of me that day. Did she know I had her? Run, and I’d find her, she couldn’t go far. Hurt me, kill me, and she’d have two **_very_ **unhappy allies on her hands before she could deal the second blow. Maybe she knew this. Maybe, like a true chess player, she had taken her defeat with a grain of salt, stubborn until the very end...or maybe all she saw was a silly, reckless girl with her heart bleeding out of her chest. Who knows? In that moment, I’d become a little bit of both.

“See? I'm completely unarmed. You know I can’t hurt you and I swear I won’t even try. So please, drop your weapon.” I smiled, meek and unassuming. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

A long, tense beat of silence passed. When she finally spoke, her voice hit me like a gust of frosty winter air. “You promise?”

My heart swelled with relief (as confident as I seemed, I’d learned that even if you have a 99% chance of winning, you never, ever trust that 1%). “Yes! Yes of course!”

Her once sharp, calculative eyes stared at me through the gloom, reflecting an empty shine that unnerved me to the very core. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from them. Especially as something flashed within their depths, recollection, understanding, resignation, I couldn’t tell, not until she spoke once more, low and cold, her weapon winking at me in the light as she raised it to the sky. 

“I can’t.”

...Oh.  
So we were going to do this the hard way, huh?

She did not scream as she lunged towards me. No, she moved silently and quick as a flash, her weapon bearing down towards my throat with uncaring abandon. Instinct ruled her, pure and simple. So I, in turn, let it rule me too, thinking very little as I pounced to my feet and shot out one leg like a viper’s strike, aiming for the weakness of her ankles. It connected, and I leapt back as the floor vanished beneath her feet and she toppled like the tower of babel, hitting the ground **_hard_** , landing in such a broken, crumpled heap I could see how she was nothing, but bones hauled around by her skin like a puppet dancing on strings. But that wasn’t to say she was weak. Pulling herself together, she clawed her way back on her feet and sought me out with wild eyes darting back and forth, focusing and unfocusing on things that weren’t even **_there_** , until she found me, and could feel her aim train on me with the careful precision of a sniper’s aim. 

“Dammit!” she hissed, spitting venom, “Can’t you see I don't have a choice!?"

She came one step closer. That’s as far as she got. I’ll never forget how she screamed as Hughes...no, wait, **_Francis_ ** reared up with a snarl and crash into her from behind, his arms locked around her stomach in an iron-clad grip even as she thrashed, kicked, and scratched, her fingernails tearing into the skin on his hands until they were laced with hot pink streaks. His eyes sought out mine, frenzied, demanding, screaming “ _Get away! Before I lose the upper hand!_ ’. But I couldn’t move. I was completely, utterly useless, unable to do anything, but watch as the girl brandished her weapon and swung wildly, recklessly aiming...backwards…

I didn’t see what happened next.

I tore my head away in a moment of split-second self-preservation, but even then I could not escape the image that painted itself across the inside of my eyelids, I don’t think I ever will, a horrific reality brought to life by Francis’ agonized howl that struck a sour chord deep within my chest and shook me like I'd never been shaken before. It was over by the time I dared to look. Francis had collapsed to the floor, hunched over, moaning unintelligibly as he clutched at his eye with fingers drenched in blood, and the girl, she...she **_gasped_** , as if she could have never imagined this would happen. The strength drained from her legs as she fell to her knees, dragging herself, half-limp, to the opposite wall.

“I...I’m sorry,” she whimpered, her voice, and her conviction, dying like a flower in winter. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I didn’t care. How could I **_possibly_** care about her and her guilt and her self-pitying sobs when she’d left my...my partner, my companion, my **_friend_** , whatever it was I could have called him, hurt in a way I could not fix. 

“Francis!” I screeched, racing to his side as fast as my shaken heart and quivering limbs would allow, all, but crumbling to the floor beside him so loose bits of gravel tore at the exposed skin of my knees in a way I felt I deserved. I reached out to him, aching to touch him, but not knowing where. How could I have known? I never could have known. My hands hovered mid-air for a long, long time before finally coming to rest against his cheek, my thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles along the corner of his eye as my other hand pressed against his own, feeling the warm stickiness of blood pool against my palm until I thought I’d be sick. Oh Francis...poor, poor Francis…

“Shhh...it’s ok...it’s ok,” I cooed, soft, but strong enough to be heard over his choked-back sobs, “It’s going to be ok. I-I’ll fix this. I promise I’ll find a way to fix this. Just hold on a little bit longer, ok? You’re tough enough, I **_know_ **you are, no Ultimate Chef is going to be stopped by a little cut like this!”

He tried to speak, but no words came. My heart broke at the near-indescribable, pain-stricken sound that rose and died in his throat, a messy jumble of a half-baked sentence I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to hear. He so dearly needed help, professional, sophisticated, **_adult_ **help. Exactly what we didn’t have. My mind spun at the possibilities I didn’t want to accept, infection, destruction, no chance at reparation, until somehow, it spun in just the right way at just the right time for the perfect idea to click in my head.

“Hughes!” I barked, turning my attention to our other, more useful, if not **_petrified_ **classmate, needless anger bubbling up within me at the sight of his bug-eyed uncertainty. I swallowed it back. “Bring me my backpack! With any luck, we’ll find medical tape in it.”

My voice anchored him, bringing him back to the present. With a brisk nod he bolted forwards and snatched up my backpack with one unsteady hand, coming to a halt beside us as he flipped it upside-down just like I’d done when Francis and I were back in Classroom A and we could still pretend we were living through the beginning of a fairy tale. Out spilled the Dollvias, the notepad, the Monopad, a deck of playing cards, and a dozen other silly knick knacks that clattered uselessly against the floor until at last, I caught sight of a fresh roll of medical tape.

“Oh thank goodness!” I cried aloud, my voice cracking with a premature sense of relief. That little victory broke a dam within me, and as I hurried, fumbling with the wrap, to tend to Francis’ wound, I had to blink away tears that blurred my vision when I needed it sharpened, focused, and steadied myself through pure power of will.

“Stay still,” I told him, “I’m going to move your hand from your eye, ok? Then I need you to stay really, really still while I wrap the bandages around your head. Don’t open your eye. Keep your other one on me. Ok? Can you hear me Francis? Francis?”

He’d gone silent. More than that, he’d gone limp, motionless save for the ragged rise and fall of his chest. His hand dropped from his bloodied eye without complaint and smacked against the floor in a way I knew must’ve hurt...if he even registered it at all. Instead he teetered on the verge of consciousness, so dizzy and disoriented from blood loss he collapsed against me with his head cradled safely in the crook of my neck and muffled words tumbling from his mouth near-inaudibly. 

“I’m sorry...” He struggled to pick himself off of me, feeble fingers seeking purchase against my back, arms, shoulders, anywhere within reach. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t...please don’t be mad.”

Then he was gone. I stroked his hair, though I knew it was pointless, hoping that somehow, on a different level, he would understand. “Of course I won’t,” I whispered, feeling blood seep through my hoodie, right down to my skin. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”

Beside me, Hughes uttered a strange, guttural sound halfway between a moan and a nervous laugh as he raked his hands through his hair. “What do we do? Oh god what are we supposed to do?” he whimpered, as if he might hurt Francis if he spoke too loudly, “I-I know a bit of first aid, but we never covered what to do in a **_stabbing_** , nobody gets stabbed in boxing!” 

His breath came and went in short, labored gasps, chest heaving, eyes pin-pricked by tears of fear and panic. We both could have descended into that feeling if we weren’t careful, becoming thoughtless and impulsive, lashing out in anger just like... **_her_** , the girl with a lab coat, the one with medical tape sticking out of the fold in her pocket...no. No way. My stomach twisted with revulsion at my own idea, but as Francis’ breathing grew shallow and more precious blood spilled into my hoodie, I knew I had little choice, but to smother my fury.

“ ** _You_ **,” it escaped me in a growl. I couldn’t help myself. 

The girl jolted at the sound of my voice, curling in on herself as if **_I_ **was the threat. “Yes?”

“What kind of Ultimate are you? Doctor? Nurse?”

“Biologist.” She winced as the word left her lips. “My name is Francine Hagihara. I am the Ultimate Biologist.”

Hughes lit up with hopeful elation. “That’s...not bad!” he decided, grinning at Francine in an encouraging, almost **_friendly_ **manner, the traitor. “That means you can help, right? You’re a Biologist, you’ve gotta know more about the human body than either of us!”

Whether or not she was qualified to help went beyond us, but Francine snatched at the chance for redemption without question or hesitation, scooting towards us with her legs, still weak from the aftershock of adrenaline, dragging limply behind her. I flinched as she extended her slender, blood-stained hand, leaving pink flakes of dried blood in his hair. I felt her fingernails drag along his skin as keenly as if it were my own. It was too much. It was too soon.

“If you hurt him again I swear I’ll-” I snarled, but my threat fell apart under the weight of her gaze, knowing, expectant, **_disappointed_ ** for goodness sake. Arguing wouldn’t help and I knew it, she **_knew_ **I knew it. That didn’t mean I had to like her, or soften my glare as she pried Francis from my grip and, with Hughes’ help, laid him out on the floor.

She swore under her breath at the sight of him. But her resolve did not waver, her face did not pale, and her hands remained steady as she inspected his torn, blood-ringed eye with rapt attention, using her thumb to push up his eyelid...and I had to look away. Another hiss, a less-than-promising “ _Shhhhhhhh_ ”. Hughes gagged. If guilt didn’t kill me, I thought the suspense might do me in. 

“It’s...not as bad as it could be,” she said eventually, but her grim tone didn’t match up to her words.

“Will he be able to see out of that eye again?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. “We should find the others. With any luck there will be someone in this school more apt than me to handle a cut like this.”

Though it was a temporary solution at best, Francine took the medical tape from her pocket and wound it around Francis’ head so it covered not only his wounded, but unwounded eye (I bit back the urge to ask if that was where she intended on aiming for next). Then she pulled away, observing her work, picking at it until she was satisfied. Without looking back, she folded herself upright like a crumpled paper bird smoothing out its own wrinkles and set off down the darkened hall from which she came with a startlingly casual flip of her hair, as if she did this all the time. It spurred us into action, if nothing else. Wordlessly slipping a hand under Francis’ arms, Hughes and I exchanged a readying look and heaved our luckless friend to his feet in near-perfect sync, refusing to waver under the leaf-like sway of his body.

Francine so **_kindly_ **slowed her pace until we’d caught up, leering at us over her shoulder like a boss to her lagging employees. “Hurry now,” she said coolly, “Any help we find will be pointless if we can’t get it to him soon enough.”

Her guilt had subsided, her terror kept safely under lock and key. That girl was a metronome I tell you, swinging back and forth in tune with whatever rhythm she came across, surviving solely through the ability to change up her tempo at the simplest twitch of the atmosphere and dance to any beat she so desired. Had she ever truly felt bad about what she’d done? Or, in the heat of the moment, did she act only in the interest of her own survival? I didn’t know, and I told myself I didn’t care, either.

“ _With any luck_ ...” I thought miserably, pressing my cheek against Francis’ side so I could take comfort in the way it moved with his every breath, “... _after tonight, I’ll never have to see her again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If two Frans were in a Killing Game and one stabbed the other in the eye would that be fucked up or what?
> 
> -TheHartProject


	4. ¿Reset?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis runs out of time. Monokuma unveils something spectacular. Sylvia meets someone new.

I’ll never forget what we found that night.

At the end of the hallway, shrouded in moonlight pale and cool as early morning fog, two towering doors decorated with intricate stained-glass designs stood with the silent, but oppressive air of murals depicting the long-forgotten gods, their ethereal light pooling around us in a shimmering, silver halo. They swam deeper than the ocean, rose higher than heaven was far. You could sink into it. Bask in its glory. But we had no time to spare for worship, so in the end, we merely tread through the shadows they cast and I pretended not to feel the prickle of a dozen steely eyes digging into my skin from every angle.

“Hughes?” I called into the darkness, desperate to hear someone’s, **_anyone’s_** voice.

“Yes?” Francis’ body shifted against mine as Hughes titled his head far enough for me to see, painted with a soft, soothing expression, his tentative smile easing the ache in my chest. “Is he getting too heavy for you? I can manage him the rest of the way.”

The very idea terrified me. “No no,” I whispered back, my voice high and frantic as the very thought of having Francis torn away from my gasp sent me clutching at him even tighter than before. “I can handle it. I just wanted to know you were there.”

His hand sought out mine at the center of Francis’ back, sweaty, but warm, and steady as I needed it to be, “Don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Soon, we’d passed through to the hallway’s successor, and though I hadn’t a clue what I expected it to be, what we discovered far exceeded every expectation I could’ve had. As the doors gave way, a gust of warm, springtime air washed over us with the same cozy sensation as pulling sheets from the dryer, and for what felt like the first time in years, decades, even, the ground dipped below my shoe, soft and malleable as dirt. Not just dirt, **_grass_** , freshly green and decorated with dewdrops they wore like little hats. High up above, a vast expanse of stars spilled across the inky black canvas of night, separated from us only by distance...and the curving, bowl-shaped glass stretched over our head in a snowglobe fit to gift a god. 

“Hm,” Francine hummed, wholly unimpressed, “So this is what the Monopad meant by The Dome.”

 **_The Dome_**. We’d made it. I might’ve cried if the view hadn’t left me awe-struck, eyes darting listlessly to and fro as I absorbed the scenery with a greedy sense of curiosity. Before us, a lake still as glass slumbered beneath a swirling, fairy-tale-esk bridge leading towards three buildings built in such an odd way they might as well have been pop-outs in a children’s book. The first was made fully out of brick, the other tall, limber, nearly black as the night itself, and the final one short and squat like a macaroon, inviting us in with friendly, tawny-coloured walls. I almost pinched myself, thinking I might be dreaming. No such luck. But I held firm to the belief that it wouldn’t be the end of the world I’d once known as Hughes began to walk forwards and I quickened to match his pace.

“This is incredible…” he broke the silence, but only just, his voice hushed with wonder.

As if in response, a gravely moan rose from the back of Francis’ throat and he stirred fitfully in our grasp, his head bobbing weakly against his chest as he made an attempt to right himself. “Sylvia?” his voice cracked when he spoke, “Where are you? It’s so dark...why is it so dark?”

A renewed sense of nervousness chewed at my gut. It shouldn’t have been so dark. “It’s nighttime, Francis, and we’re outside. Can you feel it? It’s so peaceful here.” I reached out to where his arm had been slung around my shoulders, intertwining my fingers with his as I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, a silent assurance I hadn’t left his side. “Don’t try to take the bandages off, ok? I know it’s scary, but Hughes and I are here to protect you! Right, Hughes?”

I’d tossed the ball to Hughes and he fumbled with it. “Y-Yeah! Of course we will!” he cheered, the hesitance in his voice so clearly betraying him. His eyes fell to mine, reflecting the misery rotting away my insides like a mirror and I had to look away, running from Francis’ words and the implications I couldn’t bear to accept. 

That’s when I saw them.

They blended so well into the night, a dozen shadowy silhouettes outlined only by stars and wisps of moonlight stolen out from behind the clouds. One twitch of the eye and you’d miss them, mistaken for gaps in space. Only their voices, soft, but lacking sweetness, drifting along the air could give them shape, reform them into 3D images where they’d melted into the backdrop, and Hughes and I did not need to exchange words to know they were where we needed to be. 

“Hello? Is someone there?”

The oddly familiar echo of a voice bouncing through The Dome like a beach ball gave me a jolt, and my heart soared higher than the stars at the sight of a figure breaking away from the pack, their heels click-clacking against stone as they hurried across the bridge towards us. If I closed my eyes, I could have imagined he was a prince. One straight out of a fairy tale, gallant and noble instead terrified, helpless, weighed down by failure like we were, his hair wind-ruffled and his cheeks stained by...tears? My stomach plummeted. Something was very, very wrong.

“You there! Who are-” he began, but horror struck him silent once his eyes flitted over Francis’ stilled form and he skidded to a halt before us, his lungs shrieking out the kind of gasp I’d gotten much too used to much too soon. “Is that...what on earth happened to him?!”

Byakuya. Even in darkness, recognizing him would never be a chore. He’d grown frayed in the short time we’d been apart, his once fluffy, immaculately groomed hair slicked with sweat, his blue eyes watery, and his body wracked with shivers so his once easy movements had become awkward and jerking, as if he could never make up his mind which way to move. His mouth hung ajar in shock as he stuttered over words I doubt he had a grasp on. Sympathetic ones. Strong ones. Those of a **_leader_**. They never came. But other ones did, just not from him.

“What part of “ _I’ll come with you_ ” do you not understand?” snarled a girl stalking her way across the bridge, every boot-stomp against stone draining more colour from Byakuya’s already pallid expression. Her eyes blazed with fury, caring little about the way the very air around us had grown taunt like a wire pulled thin and ready to snap, while beside her, a second figure hid herself so well against the darkness I could scarcely make out anything past the cat-like glow of her amber eyes. Together they were like night and day, the only similarity between them being how they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of my companion’s body.

“Oh shit,” the redhead (we’d finally found Ruth Akagi), hissed between her teeth, her face pinched with bewilderment, but a startling lack of concern, “What happened to him?”

“What was bound to happen with **_that_ **one around,” the second figure replied, turning her head towards Francine. 

Ruth sorted, “I didn’t think you were the type to hold a grudge, Loriel.”

Loriel. With long, rust-coloured hair spilling down her back in thick and wild spirals and pale skin reflecting the moonlight better than any shard of glass, her eyes holding an almost yellow gleam behind a wire-like pair of glasses. She dressed simply, an old, but well-kept school uniform made up of a chocolate brown jacket buttoned over a white-collar shirt, her pumpkin orange skirt criss-crossed with a light checker pattern. A scarf the colour of apricots cloaked her neck, matching a beret tipped towards a pin shaped like an old-fashioned roll of film. It completed an autumnal look so out of place within the fusion of winter and spring surrounding us, leaving her to stick out from the scenery like a passage highlighted in yellow. “S _he had a 50/50 chance and she blew it!_ " I thought, recoiling as she eyed me with a keen sense of understanding, amusement even, as if she'd read my mind, _“She must not be very lucky…"_

“Oh, you’d be surprised. And besides...” she trailed off, touching her hand to a shallow scratch mark that had managed to tear her sleeve, but nothing more. Francine shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of it. “A grudge can be earned, just like anything else. And given her latest piece of…" ** _handiwork_ ** ", I’m ready to say she’s more than deserving of it.” Her voice was pure, cold disdain, fading to a sound of defeat and she rolled an eye over Francis, massaging her forehead with her uninjured hand. “I’m going to go ahead and assume he’s alive since you’ve decided **_against_ ** doing all of us a favor by locking her in the nearest classroom and throwing away the key, but no matter his condition, I can’t say with complete certainty he’ll survive the next few nights. Take my words with a grain of salt, though. I’m a **_Critic_** , not a doctor, and apparently a mortician.”

 **_Mortician_**. The word stuck out like a broken nail. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, unable to hide the fear souring every word I whimpered out, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking. There’s no reason for a mortician.”

Byakuya bit into his knuckle, screwing up his eyes as he choked back a sob with everything he had. Ruth tucked herself away within her hood. But Loriel? She felt no obligation to tell me what I wanted to hear, refusing to look away as she said to me, with no trace of soft-heated pity, “One of our classmates, Hibiki Furuya, has died.”

At first I didn’t feel anything. Was the world supposed to shake, crumble beneath my feet, warp into a new and frightening shape like a funhouse mirror distorting reality? Should I have been sick? Should I have begged for her to be wrong, cried, howled to the stars, anything, but what I did, slipping out from beneath Francis with rubber-like legs and breaking into a sprint across the bridge to the sound of voices demanding I stop? I don’t know. At the time I didn’t even consider it, single-minded in my pursuit. I barreled past my classmates without thought or hesitation, fighting my way past the crowd towards the place where the bridge melted into a rounded platform breaking off towards the three buildings on the opposite bank, punctured perfectly in the center with a donut hole. 

My ribs hit the railing.  
Someone grasped at my shoulders, screeching indistinct nothings as they tore me away.   
But not soon enough…

…

Someone was in the pond.

I remember her eyes most of all. It’s always the eyes. Clouded over with a thick, viscous substance, white as milk, viewing all, but seeing nothing as they swam past strands of hair that drifted towards the surface as if that one part of her hadn’t yet died, clinging to the tether holding all of us to the earth. Colourless lips hung ajar, taking in water, and I swore they mouthed words only spoken in tongues. Was she speaking? Was it to **_me?_** I’d never felt so cold in all my life. 

_Why...why do you get to live?_

_Why you?_

_Why not me?_

**_It should have been me._ **

“Hey, you! Sylvia? Sylvia!”

“ _Sheela…?_ ”

I blinked, and a familiar face wrought with concern filled my vision as Sheela half-led, half-shoved me away, gripping me as if she thought I’d go spiraling after **_her_ **if left unchecked. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, her voice rough and cracked by grief, her eyes so haunting mournful I couldn’t breath at the sight of them, “The last thing we need is to...to lose you, too. Here, go with Sparky.”

My mind spun like a top as her hand drove hard into the small of my back, thrusting me towards Emmet with reckless negligence. The world went dark and my stomach heaved and a part of me feared that this was it, that I was finally going to snap and vomit over the side of the bridge and start screaming at nothing, begging for respite, and even when the night passed and I had no tears left to cry, I’d look in the mirror and realize that I’d lost...something, an intangible piece of my soul I’d never, ever get back. My senses went numb, leaving me to writhe in total darkness. I almost laughed thinking that they wanted to be there as little as I did.

“ ** _Fuck!_** ” Sheela howled, and the bridge shuddered under the heat of her fury as she drove her fist into the railing. I’m sure her knuckles cracked, that if I had dared to open my eyes, I would have seen her fists speckled with moonlit blood.

Emmet’s hand curled into my own. I held onto it so fiercely it must have gone numb, but he never said a thing.

When I finally looked to Sheela, she had her head bent low, hair cascading over her shoulders, thick enough to hide her face from view. I watched a single, pearly tear slide down her cheek through a parting in the locks. “It’s all my fault,” she croaked, her words scarcely able to be made out, threatening to crumble into nothing, “I should’ve made sure she was ok. I should’ve woken her up a-and checked her bracelet before she left. Maybe then she wouldn’t have...god, I’m such an **_idiot_**.”

My breath hitched, choked up by a sob building in the back of my throat. If Sheela was an idiot, then I was a monster. What else would you call someone who’s life stomped on so many others? I failed her. I failed Francis. I failed **_myself_ ** , no more than a husk of what a Lucky Student should, no, **_had_ **to be, playing god with good fortune only to gamble away everything I had. 

“ _It should have been me._ ”

“Her bracelet?” Lucy echoed, ashen-faced and terrified, “You’re kidding, right? Look at her Sheela, she **_drowned_**. These things on our bracelets, they’re meaningless! They can’t hurt us!” She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “They just **_can’t_**.”

She’s right!” Ko chimed in, and you could've called him bleathly optimistic if not for the pitch of his voice. “ ** _K.O_** isn’t about to be bested by some puny piece of jewelry!”

“You sure about that? I wouldn’t be so quick to count yourself as safe, doll.”

Not a soul flinched as Monokuma manifested out of cold, chilly air, drained of reaction in a way I knew it despised. Pudgy paws dangled over the railing as it sat, regarding the body drowned in the shallows beneath us with a faint “ _tut tut tut_ ” of annoyance, and though it held on to a calm facade, its voice frothed with anger ready to boil over and explode. Somewhere along the line, we’d crossed it. But I had no idea what our captor could **_possibly_ **hold against us.

“Well, well, well…” it chuckled, close to a hiss. “Would you take a look at this **_mess!_** I mean, holy cow! I can’t leave you people alone for five whole minutes without you blowing the entire take! The **_audacity_** of it all!”

It stomped. It screamed. It stormed up a fuss that would put a toddler to shame, marching back and forth across the railing, swinging its arms and screaming so its monstrous teeth were on show for the world to see. Only the sight of Byakuya’s coat could cover it up as he rushed in front of my classmates and I with two arms held out like a shield.

“Everyone stay calm,” he commanded, the only semblance of a protector we had, “Now...begin slowly backing away. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

Monokuma turned on him in an instant, its odd eye flashing red in the night. “Sudden movements? Sudden movements?! Oh my dearest Heir, I’ve been **_begging_ ** for some “sudden movements” since the moment you all arrived! But not like this! Never like this!” It moaned, clawing at its head enough to leave torn-up streaks in its own metallic skin. “This is unsuitable! Completely unusable! It spits in the face of everything a **_good_ ** Killing Game is supposed to embody! Where’s the build-up? The drama? The **_suspense?_ ** Now poor, precious Hibiki is taking the midnight train going **_nowhere_ ** and Francis is down an appendage! Do you have any idea how **_angsty_ **he’s gonna get after this? It’ll be self-pity city! Gah!”

It resumed its erratic pacing, lost in a whirlwind of nonsensical rambling I couldn’t make heads or tails of. And I didn’t need to. Because out of every word it spoke, only two mattered, only two stuck out in my and everyone else’s mind and only two passed my lips as I whispered, quiet, but heavy as stone…

“Killing Game?”

Monokuma grew still. It sought me out through the crowd, arms dangling limp at its tilted sides, head cocked upright, every bit an animatronic jerked about by an invisible puppeteer. “...Yes. You know what? Yes! Killing Game! I’ve been dying to say it all day! Killing Game Killing Game Killing Game! And right now it’s a broken one at best! And right when things were about to get **_good_ ** too. By the way! Those little messages on your bracelets, your **_Forbidden Actions_** , you’ll die if you perform them! Also, we’re in a simulation! Nothing’s real! Absolutely nothing...how incredible is that?” It shook its head, lost in thoughts we couldn’t dream of understanding. “What a wonderful world we weave…”

Ko swayed on his feet, no longer so ready to fight. A light had died from his eyes. I feared it would never return. “Hang on, this doesn’t even make any sense!” he cried, “I never agreed to this! There wasn’t even a waiver!”

“Shut up!" Spittle flew from Lucy’s mouth as she snapped at Ko, balling her fists up in her hair as she flushed an angry, pepper-red colour. "Just shut **_up!_ ** Didn’t you hear **_anything_ ** Monokuma said!? Killing Game? Forbidden Actions? Simulations? It doesn’t. Make. **_Sense_**. It doesn’t make sense that we’re on a mountain in the middle of nowhere! It doesn’t make sense that a mechanical bear is our Headmaster! It doesn’t make sense that I’m supposed to risk **_my_ ** life for the lives of a bunch of...a bunch of no-good **_nobodies_ **like you!”

Silence washed over us. Until Sheela raised her head, the stars pooling in her red-rimmed eyes. “What’s not to get?” she asked, her voice bled of all emotion. “It’s kill or be killed...or whatever. You wanna live? Somebody’s gonna have to die. Just look at her,” she flicked her wrist towards the water, “She’s dead, and I’m alive. It’s as simple as that.”

A deep sadness hit me at the sight of her, exhausted, and utterly defeated. We all were, in our own ways. But somehow that misery...fit into her. She wore it like an old, scratchy sweater, familiar in a hateful way, perfectly tailored to the dips and curves of her body and soul so I knew in an instant she’d felt that way before. That it was only a shadow cast over a much deeper pool of grief. 

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

I should have seen her coming from a mile away. Ruth, stalking up the bridge in a tiger-like pursuit of her prey, eyes locked onto Monokuma, fists curled and at the ready. “You wanna see kill or be killed?” she hissed, challenge dripping from her every word, “I’ll show you kill or be killed.”

Byakuya swiveled his head, eyes shining with horror at the sight of her and the danger she brushed past, so unaware. “Ruth, wait!” His hand shot out, reaching, grasping, missing, fingers brushing uselessly against the hood of her sweater.

In a flash of hot red, she’d snatched Monokuma by the throat, dangling it over the pink-stained waters so that one itty bitty slip of her pinky finger would send the creature tumbling to its doom. And yet, it didn’t struggle in her grasp. It didn’t choke. It didn’t beg for mercy. It didn’t thrash about like any other wild animal standing on the brink of death...in fact, all it did was place its paw over Ruth’s hand in a calm, strangely... ** _tender_** manner. 

“I’m sick and tired of all this runaround bullshit,” she growled, low and gravely, as if scuffed against the earth, “Give it to us straight, once and for all. Who are you? And what the fuck do you want with us?”

I, no, not just me, **_everyone_ **watched with bated breath, not daring to move a muscle as Mokuma wheezed...or rather, laughed, and a sickening sense of dread welled up within me. “Ruth…” I dared to speak, taking one step closer to her, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

If she heard me, she didn’t show it.

And Monokuma? It waved me off with a lazy roll of its paw. “No, no, this is a **_great_ ** idea, **_wonderful_ ** even! It’s unprecedented, sure, but what kind of Mastermind would I be if I didn’t know how to roll with the punches? Sure, this attempt has been a bust...but so what? Now I know you, I mean **_really_ ** know you, I know what you’re capable of, how to whet your bloodlust with just a _liiiiiiittle_ drop of blood in the water, so to speak, how to carve out so many thrills, chills, and kills I’ll have the entire world begging for us on its knees! Isn’t that all we’ve ever wanted? So what do you say…” It unsheathed it’s dagger-like claws, reflecting Ruth’s expression as anger became realization, and realization became fear.

“Let’s **_take it from the top!_** ”

I lunged towards the creature, but I knew from the moment my feet left the floor that it was pointless. In a flick of the wrist, Monokuma’s claws sliced through the skin of Ruth’s hand and she stumbled back with a pain-stricken yelp, releasing the bear from her grasp so it fell down...down...down to the murky waters below with a smile of pure bliss stretched across its face. The world grinded to a dizzying halt, narrowing to a pin-point tunnel. And in that tunnel nothing else existed, not the mountain, not Hope’s Peak, not even Francis, just Monokuma and the water lapping gently at its back, sucking it in, and taking all of us with it.

And just like that, everything came to an end.

…  
…   
…

I met someone at the end of the world.

They stood by a throne made of air. No crown topped their head, and no jewels adorned the clothing they wore, but I saw a ruler in them and I knew it to be true, more than I'd ever known anything in my life. So what a rare thing it was when they motioned for me to stand beside them, me, barely in existence, but I supposed in a way that was exactly why I belonged there, within that empty space. I felt so comfortable. So at ease. Even when I began to pick up the words floating past me, grumbled and spat from the one I sat beside like a rotten taste.

“Bah! What was I **_thinking?_ ** That’s **_really_ ** what I made Francine’s Forbidden Action? It’s such a waste of dramatic potential! But maybe I can fix it...yeah...yeah...all it needs is a little tweaking...increase the number of days and voila! Hahaha! I’m a genius!” They cackled like a crow, their voice sour as crab apples, and with a face rife with pure, unadulterated glee they grinned at me near-impossibly wide, “See that, my friend? Rough drafts like this, like you and I and the rest of our sorry lot are made to be **_salvaged_** , not thrown away. We’ll get it right. No matter how many tries it takes.”

They resumed their work, humming and muttering, chewing their nails, giggling madly as they scratched ugly notes onto a beautiful, iridescent screen. I watched them for a while, silent as a mouse. I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t even know if I **_could_** . “...Am I going to forget all of this?”

“Well **_yeah_** ,” they scoffed. “I can’t have you blowing this on me by letting something you shouldn’t have known slip! I want to perfect my craft, sure, but we’re not working with **_the_ ** most flexible clock here...oh!” They perked up, hastily scribbling down a dozen chicken-scratch notes as pure nonsense dribbled past their lips. “Nothing’s wrong with the **_locations_** , just the **_reveals_**...I’ll tell them about their Forbidden Actions right off the bat, that should prevent another Hibiki situation, I can’t **_believe_ ** she thought I was telling her to swim...then Francine won’t go nuts, and we won’t get sidetracked by poor old Francis’ lack of luck in the eyeball department...jeez, this is **_so_ **much more work than I anticipated, but it’ll be worth it...soon the whole world will know who we are, and we’ll never be left in the shadows again…”

They yawned, stretching like a cat caught in a sunbeam. What a strange creature they were...the way they talked, the way they moved, their body, with knife-like nails and long, gangling limbs, every inch of them was so undeniably **_inhuman_** it felt impossible to say we were of the same species. **_Were_** we? I couldn’t discern a difference between us, unspoken or otherwise. 

“Will I be leaving soon?”

“When I say so.”

“Will I be the same?”

“If I decide so?”

“Who **_are_ **you?”

They smiled at me. I could have sworn I saw hints of fondness blooming within their gaze. “You’ll find out one day, if everything goes according to plan. Fingers crossed! But until then, take this.” They opened their hand. In the center of their palm sat a flip phone silver as my own eyes, and I took it, not knowing what else to do, surprised to find its surface cold when the rest of the world had become devoid of sensation. “Keep this close. Don’t let anyone see it. After all, sheep are often less than happy to find a wolf concealed within their midsts. Oh, but look at me, gabbing on like an old lady! You’d better get going, you don’t want to miss the show!”

If I expected a hug I’d be disappointed. They merely grinned, winked, and clicked their heels, ending nothing and starting something new. But even as the world dwindled away, one sound remained. A song. Sung in a sweet, but scratchy voice, as if coming to me through an old radio.

_We’ll meet again! Don’t know where, don’t know when._

_But I know we’ll meet again_

_Some sunny day…_

…  
…   
…

The cold enveloped me like an old friend as I stood at the front of the classroom, gazing out into a snow-laden landscape while Monokuma’s voice droned at the edge of my awareness.

“These are your **_Forbidden Actions!_** ” it purred, prancing about with childish glee. “Perform what’s written on them and, well, no spoilers, but I betcha won't like what hits ‘ya!”

My new classmates made their anger known. They hollered, screamed, hurled threats like snowballs unaware of the consequences, and I closed my eyes, wishing more than anything I was deaf to it all. Didn’t they understand what was coming? Better question, why did **_I_** understand what was coming? 

How could I have known?

I could never have known…

…  
…   
…

“Need a hand?”

“Um…” I blinked up at my classmate, a stranger in a familiar man’s shoes. I’d never met him before. Not once in my life...but then, why did my chest ache at the sight of him? What made his arms so tempting, the desire to take him in a fierce embrace pulling at every bone in my body? I didn’t know. So I chose instead to focus on a rather peculiar part of him. “Oh! Is your eye ok?”

His face pinched with confusion. “What do you mean my-” he lit up like a lightbulb. Embarrassed, he turned his head away and covered his one closed eye behind an open palm. “It’s nothing. I got something in it, that’s all.”

…  
…   
…

“My earth name is Hibiki Furuya. I cannot tell you my spirit name, it’s power would corrupt your mortal souls.”

I blinked at the girl. One moment she’s sleeping like a baby in its cradle and the next she’s speaking in tongues, fixing my companion and I with an empty, cherry red stare. I hid my shock behind an unconvincing cough. “That’s...cool? So, um, what’s your talent? Let me guess, Ultimate Artist? Artists are always a little odd!”

Hibiki’s lips twitched downwards in a shallow fold. “I’m not odd,” she insisted, but became crestfallen, her shoulders slumped as she admitted something I never thought I’d hear, “But...I forgot my talent.”

…  
…   
…

“See? I’m completely unarmed. You know I can’t hurt you and I swear I won’t even try. So please, drop your weapon.” I smiled, meek and unassuming. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

A long, tense beat of silence passed. When she finally spoke, her voice hit me like a gust of frosty winter air. “You promise?”

My heart swelled with relief (as confident as I seemed, I’d learned that even if you have a 99% chance of winning, you never, ever trust that 1%). “Yes! Yes of course!”

Her once sharp, calculative eyes stared at me through the gloom, reflecting an empty shine that unnerved me to the very core. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from them. Especially as something flashed within their depths, recollection, understanding, resignation, I couldn’t tell, not until she spoke once more, low and cold, her weapon winking at me in the light as she raised it to the sky. 

“I...I can’t.”

The clatter of metal against smooth tile flooring ricocheted throughout the hallway like a broom handle snapping, sending out waves of an echo the way a gunshot never could. I raised my head, smiling past beads of sweat. Her breath came and went in short, wavering gasps, but I knew she’d be ok, especially as she smiled, beautiful in a safe, fragile way. “Ok…” she said, and my heart all, but gave out. “I’ll trust you.”

…  
…   
…

“Stabbing, bludgeoning, drowning, and more, you’ll live through it all, then live through some more!” Monokuma sang in a voice sweet as nails on a chalkboard. Its mocking song filled the Gymnasium, poisoning the once calm, sweat-scented air with malic, hatred, and panic that rose from my classmates in a thunderous upsurge of commotion. “You’ll each have your own style, of course, I’d be a horrible Mastermind if I squashed your unique, creative urges, simply **_horrible!_** The method doesn’t matter, so long as you kill one of your beloved classmates and get away with it, you’ll be able to leave this place behind and never look back! Puhuhu! Have I... ** _peaked_** your interest yet? Haha! Get it? Cause we’re on a peak? Oh, I crack myself up!”

No one laughed. No, within the chaos that was the only sound that **_couldn’t_ **be heard. As the screeches and sobs rang out so loud I thought it would shatter my skull, I doubled over, hitting the ground hard, grasping at my head in a feeble attempt to keep myself together. One moment longer and I would surely burst, my very essence scattered across the gymnasium in a blaze of pink-and-white dust. 

“It’s ok,” I whispered. The noise swallowed my voice, but it was all I could do. If I knew it existed, maybe that would be enough. “It’s ok...it’s ok...it’s ok…”

…  
…   
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that was the introductions! They stretched on for a few more chapters than I had hoped, but better a little too much than much too little, right? The next chapter will be a two-parter (still released on separate Sundays) and I greatly look forward to it, we've got a lot of big twists and turns coming up that I can't wait to get to! Until then!
> 
> -TheHartProject


	5. Fragmented Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of a reveal they never could have imagined, Sylvia and her classmates pick up the pieces and press on with their lives, searching the school for answers as the clock ticks down towards Monokuma's assembly, one that will change the very fabric of their lives.

**Ba-Ba-Daaaah!** **  
****It’s time for** **_Monokuma Theater!_ **

**Thank you, thank you, what a lovely little crowd we’ve gathered tonight! Do you wanna know something funny? Of course you do, why else would you be here? Lately, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I’ve been tossing and turning, chugging warm milk like a kid on Christmas Eve, but the second my head hits the pillow I’m plagued with the most peculiar question, one I can never seem to fully put into words. The closest I can get is this: don’t you find it odd that, when you think about it, it’s impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when you fall asleep? How silly it is that the very idea of sleeping is what’s keeping me awake!**

**Sure, a scientist could hook you up to some fancy schmancy machinery, measure your brainwaves, and prattle off numbers forever, but you yourself will never truly know. Because at some point between awake and asleep, dream and reality, you fall into something that’s in-between. Something that’s neither. Something that’s both. Real and imaginary, fact and fiction, that little grey area in the middle is so incredibly** **_irritating_ ** **isn’t it? However! Nothing lasts forever, as you’ve so surely heard before, eventually the scales will** **_have_ ** **to tip in one option’s favor. Because an ending that’s neither fact nor fiction, dream nor reality, hope nor despair…**

**Well, that’s not really an ending now is it?**

…  
…

There was nothing fairy tale-like about the way I awoke on that fateful, silver-lit morning. 

I bolted upright in a bed I did not recognize with a lightning-bolt shock to the senses, a ragged yelp raking up the back of my throat until it burned with a raw sting. Slicked with sweat and much, much too warm in my own skin, I swallowed, hard, clutching at my chest as the heart within it thump-thump-thumped as if I’d spent the night running for my life, my eyes darting about the room, sick with a desperate, terrified fervor. _“This...this isn’t right,”_ the words rang through my head in a silent whimper, _“This isn’t my room. This isn’t where I_ ** _belong_** _…”_

The dim, yellow-gold glow of the lamp I’d **_refused_ ** to turn off cast an eerie light, alien against what could have otherwise been mistaken as the depths of night. Shadows sprung forth like embers spat by fire, squint, and they became monsters stalking to and fro, readying themselves for the perfect moment to pounce. They would tear my skin off in strips. Peel flesh from bone. Sink their teeth into my exposed neck until everything went black. Child-like with fright, I gripped the blankets tighter with one hand as the other fumbled through the sheets, seeking out the Monopad I’d kept close to my side and the electric light it held...reaching further...further...just a _liiiittle_ bit further…

Until the bed disappeared altogether. 

A blossom of pain bloomed across my already battered forehead as I plummeted over the side of the bed with a high-pitched squeak of alarm, triggering an avalanche of memories that swept me away within its ever-rolling waves. Spices and scarves. Ghosts and globes. Botanists and Boxers and Biologists all crashing into me at once, more than I could ever hope to handle without my head threatening to rip itself clean in two. Suddenly, I couldn’t care less about shadows and their empty, paper-thin threats. Pushing myself to my knees with arms that could hardly withstand my own weight, I shook my head, as if that could cast off the beginnings of what was sure to become a horrible migraine, and bit back the urge to hiss bitterly at my own misfortune.

_“It could always be worse! It could always be better, sure, but it could always be worse!”_

I jinxed myself. Apparently just **_begging_** to play trickster with my innermost thoughts, the universe sent the obnoxious buzzing of TV static to grind against my ears like sandpaper, and as I swiveled my head towards the source, a monitor hooked up to the opposite wall, I came face-to-face with an all-too-familiar grin. 

“ ** _Goooooooood_** morning everyone!” Monokuma shrieked at the top of it’s mechanical lungs (and if you thought its un- ** _bear-_** ably squeaky voice was aggravating enough already, just wait until it’s the first thing you hear in the morning). “It is now 7am, the official start to your first full day at Hope’s **_literal_** Peak!” It chuckled at its own joke, gesturing towards my closed-off window. “You know what that means! You lazy lumps better get out there and start living your best! School! Life! Ah...until about 12, give or take. That’s right, we’ll be kicking off the afternoon with a grand school assembly, isn’t that a treat? I’ve got some tasty tidbits of info to give to you kiddos...I **_really_** think you’re gonna like it! So then! Now that you know we’ll be seeing each other **_reeeeal_** soon, it’s time to say goodbye! Ciao!”

It gave a wave of its paw and the monitor shut off, leaving me alone in near-total darkness.

Well...that wasn’t the **_worst_** way I’d ever been woken up. Heaving a sigh of resignation, I flopped onto my back, letting my tired eyes flutter shut as day-old aches washed over me from the very tips of my toes to the stubborn cowlick sticking out from the top of my head. Every curve, dip, and roll in my body carried a burden, cuts and bruises screaming their presence on my skin so I became keenly aware that if I bothered to look, I’d find myself appearing more like a time-worn puppet patched up by a child’s clumsy hands than a person. I was **_polka-dotted_** for crying out loud! And not just in body, but in mind. My memory had been punched full of holes, ones that could only be filled by waiting, reaching, patiently allowing my brain to fill in its own gaps as brains often like to do.

I was somewhere...warm. Humid and stinking of sweat...yes, that must’ve been the Gymnasium. What happened inside, what that monster told me...it would stay with me for the rest of my life. The Killing Game. Murder. Blackened. **_Trial_** , whatever that was. Between that and the Monopad, spitting out words like **_Explorer_** , **_Observer_** , **_Escapee_**...my stomach had twisted itself into knots that not even the rise and fall of night into day could heal.

Thank goodness we had Byakuya, shaken, but reliable Byakuya. The moment Monokuma disappeared, whisked away into the night by an unseen force, he’d taken control of the shell-shocked room and managed to goad us into the Dormitory just when it seemed like we were on the verge of splintering, ready to take off like bullets shot from a gun all sprinting in opposite directions. What happened next escaped me then and, honestly, it still does now. But that doesn’t matter. The specifics are unimportant. I was in my dorm room, I could take it from there.

“I wonder how Francis is doing...” I thought out loud. It wasn’t by chance he came to mind, I’d spent more time than I cared to remember playing hop-scotch as I leapt from digital file to digital file, eating up every little morsel of information the Monopad could give me surrounding my new classmates. Francis McCullin was the Ultimate Chef. He was 6 feet tall. He liked watching movies and he hated greasy foods...and he was the only semblance of a friend I had. “...I should go find him.”

Clamoring to my feet, I sought out the white wood dresser sitting at the opposite wall and began pulling open the drawers, surprised to find them stuffed to the brim with more clothes than I’d ever had in my life...in a rather peculiar way. Sure, I had pjs. Ten of the exact same pair. Sure, I had an outfit for the day. Ten of the exact same set. Hoodies and skirts and knee-high socks, all cuddled up with pink-and-white heelys, neatly organized, and more than a little unnerving. Each of them had been stamped with a small, but prominent brand of Monokuma’s face, just in case the cult-like aspect of our kidnapping hadn’t already been driven home and back five times over. **_Well_ ** then. It seemed that **_someone_ **hated change...but hey, they say you can’t improve upon perfection, right? So I took it as a compliment!

I changed quickly, taking note of what ached and what could survive a little more wear-and-tear, and after a brief mirror check (the bruise on my forehead had turned purple-ish blue like a crushed blueberry, pushed out from my skull in a misshapen lump) I was ready. I grabbed my backpack from the corner of my room and slung it over my shoulder as I prepared to set out into the day...and then it hit me. The flip phone.

My shoulders stiffened, a sickening chill slithering down my spine at the memory of the strange, hateful little mystery mocking me from the silent depths of my backpack. The memory of it could explode like a flash grenade if I let it, blinding and all-consuming, bringing nothing, but fear and bewilderment over questions I couldn’t possibly hope to answer. Should I tell Francis? Byakuya? **_Everyone?_** How would they react, seeing the phone blank, save for a single contact scrawled at the very top of the screen...

MASTERMIND

...I decided not to think about it. Not until I had to. 

A lovely morning shine illuminated the hallway as I stepped outside, drenched in sunlight, and though it threw me for a loop at first, with no windows in sight to dot the green-and-white striped walls, I came to notice the clear sheet of glass, glittering like jewels, taking place of a ceiling above my head. How...charming? At some point I had to question the bizarre obsession with glass the school embodied, an attempt to combat cabin fever, maybe? Who knew?

“ _You could always ask,_ ” a cruel voice hissed in the back of my mind. I ignored it.

I began to stretch my sore muscles, feeling a hint of contempt as I caught sight of a security camera trained on me with one dark, unblinking eye. When every action I took provided free entertainment to whoever was hidden behind the lense, being as mind-numbingly boring as I possibly could became a free act of rebellion. It didn’t last long, though, as the much-too-convenient “ _eeeeeeee_ ” of a door swinging off old, rusted hinges interrupted me, and I reluctantly looked up to see a certain purple-haired classmate creeping out from his room with a deer-in-the-headlights gleam in his eyes, growing fervent as they met my own, and filled with a bitter sort of recognition. His whole body tensed up as he prepared a hasty escape, and I flung out my hand to freeze him in his tracks.

“Not so fast mister!” I commanded, mimicking Byakuya’s authoritative tone as best I could, “I come in peace! See, look at me, what kind of violent person does chai tea?” Fixing him with a friendly, not-at-all threatening smile, I put on a little stretching demonstration to show how truly **_not_ **frightening I really was.

The boy (Shuto, I remembered) didn’t seem all too impressed. “D-Do you mean t-t-tai chi?” he stuttered out, clearly trying to hide his slow inching towards the exit. 

“Yeah! Wanna join?”

His expression went dark, dragged down by a sense of misery so heavy it managed to cast its own shadow. “Why should I? I don’t, I ca-I can’t…” He snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenched, lips trembling from pressure. Every word dragged through his throat as if it was laden with thorns or thick as syrup, sticking to his own tongue so he had to collect himself, swallowing whatever clogged up his speech. “There’s no point. Once the fruit’s gone r-rotten, you don’t work to polish it.”

I didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. Was he the fruit? Was **_I_ ** the fruit? Or was I the polish? I assumed it wasn’t worth worrying about. “Well in that case, you can always make pie, right? Soooo...how are you feeling today?” I asked, eager to change the subject to something, y’know, **_comprehensible_**.

Shuto pulled down the brim of his cap, either shielding himself from my sight, or hiding me from his. “My body is _fffff_ ine,” he muttered cringing at his own drawn-out “f”. “But the ache still remains.”

What was **_that_ **supposed to mean?

“That’s...nice.”

An uneasy silence passed between us. Though he and I had already, uh, **_met_** , to put it lightly, I’d never had the chance to really **_look_ ** at him past a fleeting glimpse. Skin-tight jeans clung to his weirdly twiggy legs, silver-grey zippers racing up the sides (oh that **_couldn’t_ ** be comfortable) towards a comically large belt buckle, and upon his padded shoulders sat a leather jacket ripped in **_just_ **the right way so I knew he’d done it himself, on purpose, with untrained hands leaving himself more ragged than rugged. Empty dog tags clinked together from a chain around his neck, and a pitch-black hat decorated with a simple white lined looped around its base covered purple hair so thick and curly, locks were popping out from beneath it after a failed attempt to stuff them out of sight. But it wasn’t his objectively peculiar style alone that caught my attention. No, it was his very essence, the impassable gap between the rockstar persona he displayed for the world to see, and his thin vapor trail of an aura, so faint a mere breeze could sweep him off his feet. 

“Shuto…” I tested out his name on my tongue, smiling as he recoiled, blinking in surprise. “Shuto, Shuto, Shuto, you funny little ferret man, you! I feel like we got off on the wrong foot! And it looks like we might be stuck together for a while, so why don’t we let bygones be bygones and take it from the top?” I began to approach him, holding out my hand with the offer of a friendly shake. “Hi! My name is Sylvia Hart, and I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student! Pleased to meetcha!”

I don’t know what I expected, but what happened next surprised me all the same. Shuto reared sharply away with a squawk of alarm as his hand latched onto the Forbidden Action bracelet clasped around his wrist, gripping it with such strength I thought for sure it would crack. He eyed my open palm as if it was a weapon of mass destruction, as if, somehow, I could’ve ended his life with nothing more than a snap of the fingers. I took the hint to pull away, stowing my hands in my pockets like an outlaw might holster a weapon.

“I’m sorry!” I blurted out in a panic, bowing my head with a silent apology. My skin prickled with discomfort under the weight of a deadly secret I did not want to hold. How would he react? How was **_I_** supposed to react? “ _No wonder he’s so terrified! I would be too if my Forbidden Action could be triggered with something so simple as_ ** _touching!_** "

But for once, the universe saw fit to take pity on me, and the sound of a second door swung wide open sliced through the tense atmosphere like a knife (or a **_scalpel_** , perhaps). Both Shuto and I turned to see Vincent waltzing out from their room, humming an upbeat tune as they walked, picking fitfully at their sleeves as if dissatisfied by even the slightest hint of a wrinkle. Unlike either of us they could be fancied as the picture of beauty, their eyes clear and bright and their skin free of ugly blotches, in fact their chiseled features held no hints of imperfection beneath the sunlight, like marble smooth to the touch. An image of their face twisted with a sickening, bone-deep horror flashed through my mind. I forced it away. Reconciling the images of **_that_ **night with the classmates I met under the day’s light would be a fool’s errand, anyways, not even Vincent could wear the depths of terror well. 

By the time they noticed us, we’d come close to colliding, and the realization that they weren’t as alone as they thought seemed to irk them for a reason I couldn’t quite grasp. “Oh! Good morning, you two,” they greeted us politely, and with hints of good-natured laughter, but as guilty eyes darted between us like startled fish, I knew they had something to hide. “What has you awake so early? Surely, you must be bursting with energy!”

I decided it wouldn’t hurt to play along, if only for a little while. “I am! But it was the announcement thingy that woke me up...didn’t you hear it too?”

Their smile faltered. “I...awoke earlier to shower! Yes, so I must have missed the announcement! Ah, such a shame...but I digress, you two should hurry along to the Cafeteria, I'd wager the rest of our classmates are eagerly awaiting your arrival!” They made a small shooing motion with their hands, as if we were troublesome school children rather than their peers. The reason why became clear as day when a second figure stumbled out from behind them with an unabashedly loud yawn, raking her hands through a fitful bed-head.

“Ugh, do we **_really_** have to get up this early?” Ume moaned, wiping a stray smudge of eyeliner from the corner of her eyes as if she’d done her make-up in the dark. “So what if we miss out on a bit of playtime with our classmates? It’s not like we haven’t cut classes before...hm?” She trailed off as she noticed the unexpected company. But unlike Vincent, the twist didn’t leave her tongue-tied, and she flashed a wickedly smug grin as if boasting about something I didn’t understand, and wouldn’t want to know about if I did. “Good morning you two! Did you have a pleasant night? I know **_I_** did.”

Felix and I exchanged a look of bewilderment as Vincent flushed dark, muttering something about either breakfast or Byakuya under their breath as they took Ume by the shoulders and ushered her towards the exit without so much as a goodbye, the steady rhythm of their footsteps masking Ume’s fluttering laughter, rich with taunt and tease until it disappeared entirely. In that moment, Shuto hesitated. His head swung between the lovebirds and I indecisively as he chewed on his bottom lip, but he (rather quickly) made the decision to seize his opportunity to chase after the two, abandoning me in the hallway like an old toy that had lost its luster. Ouch.

Then again, who could blame him? Given how we met, not to mention how apt I seemed to bumble around him like a lop-sided wind-up doll, I didn’t doubt he’d take his sweet time coming around. And until then, I always had Hughes, Byakuya, Francine...

Francis.

Oh! I’d almost forgotten! The sting of Shuto’s rejection melted away as I remembered why I’d stuck around the Dormitory in the first place, excitement making the blood in my veins buzz with unbridled anticipation. Francis and I hadn’t spoken a word to each other since we stepped foot in the Gymnasium, both of us too shocked, uncertain, or just plain defeated to bother drumming up a conversation, but as we trudged across the bridge in a somber, silent line I saw the raw heat of rage and frustration burning in his eyes brighter than any half-smile I’d managed to pull out of him since the moment we met, and felt a rush of much-needed motivation. After all, what better way is there to stay sane than to stay busy?

So I made a list.  
Step 1: Cheer Francis up   
Step 2: Become best friends

That was it. That was the list.  
And by god I was gonna finish it.

I pulled out my Monopad, poking aimlessly at its surface until it gave in to my wishes and lit up with life. A map splayed out across the screen before me, speckled with dots I assumed represented each of our dear classmates, and though most of them had concentrated in the center of the Cafeteria, one lone, sad-looking dot hovered in its dorm room, pulsating with a faint orange glow as if silently pleading for help. Francis. 

“Ah-ha! Found you!” With a cheer of delight I scurried towards his dorm room, giving the door three brisk wake-up rapts. “Francis? It’s me, Sylvia!” I called out to him, “I was hoping we could talk, maybe grab a cup of coffee or something? I don’t think either of us have eaten since yesterday morning…” No response. I knocked once more, paused, then repeated, over and over again until I thought my knuckles would pop. Fear began to squirm in my chest like a caged animal, raking its claws across my lungs and stomach so that familiar, sour, sickness returned, a bitter-cold hand reaching down my throat so their fist squeezed my gut. “...Francis? Hey **_Fraaaaaaacis?_** ”

Nothing.  
Were the walls soundproof?   
Was he a heavy sleeper?   
Or was he...no.   
He **_couldn’t_ **be...

“Hold on, Francis! I’m coming in!” Panic surged up the back of my throat as I moved to turn the doorknob, but to my dismay, it refused to budge an inch. He’d locked it. Of **_course_ **he’d locked it, I’d have done the same thing if my door had a lock. Instead I’d resorted to propping my desk chair up against the doorknob and sat, cowering in bed, silently praying I hadn’t done it wrong or that someone strong and blood-hungry enough would come along and put their foot through the door. 

…  
Hmmm…

I’d kicked open a door once, odds were I could do it again! Adrenaline spiked my system as I backed away, taking short, rapid breaths as I psyched myself up for what I was about to do, and when I wound up my foot, concentrating all of my energy in the quick, but powerful movement I was about to unleash, I let it fly right as the door handle began to turn...

“Hi- ** _ya!_** ” I cried as my foot burst clean through the door with a satisfying, if not terrifying **_CRACK_** , needle-sharp slivers exploding from the wood to fly off like miniature fighter jets. At first, all I could do was stare, struck silent with awe at the sight of my own sliver-pricked skin. Then slowly, cautiously, the door began to creak open, and I stumbled gracelessly to keep myself balanced as I was dragged into the darkened room to face Francis, who seemed neither angry, nor disappointed, or even surprised...just tired.

“Are you done?” he asked, gesturing to the wreckage, “Did you get it all out of your system?”

I nodded, only able to offer a small, sheepish smile. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Of course I’m ok, what kind of-” his mouth snapped shut, and I wasn’t sure whether to be hurt he needed to swallow back a sarcastic retort, or touched that he bothered, “...Whatever, let’s just get you out of there.”

Bending down on his knees, Francis gently took hold of my leg and began to ease it out of the newly-bashed-in hole in his door, and as I watched it brush past splinters of wood the length of my middle finger, I thanked the gods of fortune I’d decided to wear the thickest pair of knee-high socks I owned. Sure, by the time I escaped they were torn half to shreds and riddled with wood chips, but better them than me! I gave my leg a little shake before testing my ankle out on the floor, wincing as a zap of pain shot up my leg as I pressed my weight against it. But it wasn’t broken, at least. No, I’d felt broken before. If I could handle that, surely a sprain wouldn’t slow me down!

“It’s so good to see you again!” I chirped, turning to greet my recently-reappeared friend, “Hey, your Forbidden Action isn’t to let anyone into your room, right?”

He huffed his response, pushing his matted mop of hair out of his eyes. “And a good morning to you too.”

I decided to take that as a “No” and limped inside, ducking under his arm and into the abyss of his room. He either didn’t care or didn’t bother summoning the energy to stop me, instead shutting the door, plunging us into darkness until the lights flickered on all of their own accord. What it revealed to me, I didn’t want to believe. The room before me could have been called a disaster and that would be putting it lightly, with wrappers, tissues, and crumpled-up papers spilling from a knocked-over wastebasket, the wallpaper peeling off in strips, and a funky, almost earthy smell permeating everything in sight. Even his bed had been totaled, with rumpled, dirty sheets that hung off the frame and pillows punctured with tears spilling feathers over everything in sight. Only a single paper crane, snow white and unmarred by creases and tears, had been spared whatever carnage had left the rest of the room in such a state of disarray, overseeing the chaos from its windowsill with a detached, inanimate coldness. We hadn’t even passed the 24 hour mark. How had everything become such a garbage heap?

“It was actually like this when I arrived. I just didn’t bother cleaning it up.” As if sensing my surprise, Francis broke the silence with a bitter chuckle that caught in his throat. “Whoever designed this place really knows me.”

An urgent desire to reach out and comfort him took over, but the pain searing up my leg sent me spiraling onto his bed, hitting the too-firm mattress so haphazardly it knocked the air from my lungs. “Don’t say that,” I wheezed, having to regain my breath, “Maybe whoever’s in charge of this place just really, really hates you!”

“Thanks, that’s **_very_ **fucking comforting.” Though I couldn’t see him, I could feel the bed dip under his weight as he settled himself onto the very edge, going out of his way to put as much space between us as possible. I would’ve taken offense if I hadn’t, by some nonsensical means, known he only had the best intentions. “What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be in the Cafeteria being all buddy-buddy with Byakuya and the rest of the early morning sunshine squad?”

“And leave you with some peace and quiet? No way! I wasn’t kidding about that coffee, goodness knows we need a little kick after…” I waved my hand, gesturing vaguely at nothing and everything, “...all **_that_**.”

Francis gave a mild hum of amusement. I dared to chance a look at him, relaxing once I saw that his eyes had fluttered shut and his chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths, as if he’d already fallen asleep. If he had, it would have been a blessing. Through the haze of my own exhaustion I could see the ghost of a five o’clock shadow sprinkling his cheeks and chin like pepper grounds, and his eyes, ones I knew were sunken and blood-shot from a long, restless night, were weighed down by bags the same colour as a healing bruise. Something about the sight of them stirred up a tremble of fear in my chest, though for the life of me I couldn’t imagine why. When I blinked, the feeling was gone, and I found Francis staring at me through the gloom.

Neither of us dared speak. It was up to me to take a chance, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Did **_you?_** ” he shot back, oddly defensive. 

I forced myself to laugh at that, though I couldn’t stop from self-consciously brushing a stray hair out of my eyes. “Dodgy this morning, are we? But if you **_really_ ** need to know, then yeah, I did. Can you blame me? With everything that happened yesterday, I was so exhausted I slept like a baby!” I grinned at him, praying he wouldn’t see past my bold-faced lie, “I mean, come **_on_** , you don’t **_really_ **think anyone is gonna be ki...hurt, do you? That’s crazy!”

“Crazy, huh?” he echoed. Though he didn’t flick his wrist or let his eyes shift towards the door, he didn’t need too, I already knew where his disbelief had come from. The inexplicable gap between my words and my actions.

The remains of my confidence shriveled, and my skin burned with shame for more reasons than one. The very sight of Francis, quiet, but expectant, kick-started a war within me, part of me yearning to give in, to admit I’d tossed and turned, falling into fitful bouts of sleep only to jerk wide-awake at the smallest nighttime noise deep into the early hours of morning, while the other stubbornly refused to admit I’d reached a breaking point to anyone, even myself. It was ridiculous. I **_knew_ **it was ridiculous, but the undeniable link between admittance and acceptance scared me more than anything. 

“ _Don’t count me out just yet,_ ” my mind’s voice whispered fiercely. Whether my words were directed at Francis or myself, I couldn’t figure out. 

“That was...unrelated.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Anything could have happened to you overnight! You could have slipped in the shower or fallen out of a window or hit your head on the bed frame or part of your roof could have caved in or-” I broke off with a frown, lightly batting his hand away as he raised it in surrender, a move I was beginning to anticipate from him. “Ok! Ok! I’m done, you don’t have to be such a jerk about it!”

He chuckled dryly (though, to my satisfaction, it held a note of genuine humor). “I’m sorry...you have every right to be angry at me, but please, don’t take it out on the bed. It’s all I have.”

“First of all, uncalled for.”

“No, no, I think it was pretty called for.”

“Second of all, wow! Am I just chopped liver to you? Actually...you’re a chef, you probably like chopped liver more! You’re breaking my heart, Francis…” Giggling, I rolled onto my side and closer to my companion, taking such comfort in the company I had that the desire for sleep reared its head once more, and I knew I could’ve sunk into the blankets if we’d known each other for just a **_little_** bit longer, or had just a **_few_** less stakes ready to impale us where we lay. Looking back, it’s criminally easy to see how loneliness shaped every step I took. “Don’t worry, I will so **_graciously_** forgive you... ** _if_** you come to the Cafeteria with me.”

Francis groaned, more playful than serious, but reluctancy still tinged his words. “Do I **_have_** to? The place’ll be packed, and you **_know_** the moment I arrive everyone will be expecting me to pull some high-class five-course meal out of my ass like I haven’t **_just_** woken up. That or Hughes’ll be on me again about that fucking profile...you know what his last name is? **_Janus_**. That’s right. Mr. Asshole is giving **_me_** grief.”

“...You’re angry about the profile, huh?”

“Damn right I am! Did you know that it has our **_chest measurements_ **on it? I feel like a creep just for knowing that.”

He was stalling (and doing quite a terrible job of hiding the fact). When he ran out of words to say, he merely closed his eyes, eyelids twitching as if lost in a deep, restless sleep until finally, he let out a breath of air, and I knew he’d given in before he even spoke a word. “Alright, alright,” he said at last. Both he and I knew I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I’ll hang around until after the assembly. Then you let me sleep in peace.”

“ _Haha, what a softie!”_ I thought, but didn’t dare say, unable to conceal a victorious grin as I whispered, “Deal.”

By the time we left the Dormitory Building, puffy, silver-white clouds had begun to collect at the brim of the horizon, enough to promise snow sometime late afternoon, but without the threat of a storm. Everything was calm, spring-like, even. If I ignored the piled-up heaps of snow creeping around the outskirts of The Dome, it became April again, warm and sweet-scented, ringed with grass green as evergreen needles, and I could bask in the warmth brought on by the sun without breaking the facade for as long as I wanted, so long as I didn’t ask for forever.

“Wow! It’s so pretty in the daytime!” I exclaimed, skipping happily along the bumpy cobblestone bridge. 

Francis trailed behind me, surely giving a half-hearted shrug. “I guess if you’re easy to please. Seriously, I don’t get why you’re so peppy about this.”

The word, _“Denial!”_ jumped to the tip of my tongue. I forced it away, mimicking the nonchalant roll of his shoulders as best I could. “Meh, I guess that’s just how I am! Glass half-full and all that.”

He gave a short hum, but said no more. The oddly squashed building had popped up before us, and as we pushed our way inside, the rumbling of a dozen mixed-together voices and mouth-watering aroma of freshly cooked breakfast hot off the platter drifted along the air towards us, an all too tempting beckoning inside. There, a horseshoe-shaped table decked out with more food than we’d ever be able to swallow curved around the back of the room, the floor in front of it holding a scattering of three-person tables home only to Shuto and the most pitiful bowl of oatmeal I’d ever seen. The floor was black-and-white checkered. The walls were red-striped. Two double doors were propped up beside a window acting like a miniature ordering station.

“ _Mhmm...this Cafeteria is about as Cafeteria as a Cafeteria can be._ ”

I blinked, checking back into reality only to find every eye in the room had come to rest on us, the newcomers. “Oh! Uh, hi there!” I greeted them with a cheerful, if not awkward wave, and in a moment of panic, gestured to Francis like an inventor showing off their latest creation. “Tah-dah! Brought you guys a gift!”

No one laughed. Francis, rolling with it, gave a curt nod, and opened his mouth for what was sure to be a bone-dry “Hello” before a rough, barking fit of laughter cut him off. 

“Wow, you really shouldn’t have,” Ruth sneered. But the volume of her own voice seemed to startle her, as if she hadn’t meant to speak quite so brashly, and she shrunk back into her jacket with a muffled grunt of discomfort.

Francis stiffened. I couldn’t let that slide, not if I wanted to keep the peace. “But I did! Pretty great, right? Now we’re all together for breakfast!” 

Ruth hardly cared, giving only a dismissive roll of her eyes. “Big whoop. Who gives a shit if the chef’s here or not when the food’s already prepared?” Her voice fell to a grumble as she went on, almost inaudibly, “Not that anyone else here is worth jack shit in this situation…”

Uh-oh.

Ultimates are touchy people. That one, little word, “worth” was enough to prick the sore spot of every poor sap in the room. I watched, unsure of myself at the time, as those around me bristled like teeth-bearing alley cats, turning on Ruth in defense of their silly, overblown titles as if she’d spat in their faces. One took it worse than the others.

“Oh that’s **_rich_ ** coming from you,” Lucy’s shrieked, and in a heartbeat both girls were on their feet, their hair flickering between my classmates like fire as one stalked forwards with her green eyes blazing and the other recoiled, clutching her jacket like a lifeline. How odd...was Ruth only lashing out in fear? But Lucy couldn’t care less how much bite the other girl had to back up her bark. “All **_you_ **can do is draw us up an extra pretty white flag, at least when we get out of here, I’ll be able to publish an article that’ll put your miserable butt back on the map!”

That was the last straw. Her hesitance abandoned, Ruth’s lips curled back in a snarl and I suddenly found my feet moving all on their own accord, skirting around the table, weaving between classmates as I thrust myself between the two and pushed them both apart. “Stop it!” I snapped, surprised by the heat behind my own words, “No one’s talent is better or worse than another’s, most of them can’t even be compared!”

After a moment’s thought, Lucy backed off, the fighting spirit in her eyes subsiding as she gave a self-satisfied snort. But Ruth? Approval wouldn’t satiate her, not the kind that came from me, anyways. At the sound of my voice she twisted right around, hatred oozing out of every pore in her body as she drew herself up to full height, and in the face of her fury, I’d never felt so small. “Oh, so now the **_Lucky Student_** is gonna preach to us?” she hissed, low and dangerous, **_deadly_** even, “You don’t belong here. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the **_hell_** away from me.”

I recoiled like a cornered animal, hurt boiling up within me. I so desperately wanted to respond, to say, _“Hey! I deserve just as much respect as you!”_ , but the strength of her conviction, and the hushed silence resounding from the people around me, planted the first seedlings of doubt in the darkened corners of my mind. I **_was_ ** one of them, wasn’t it? I **_did_ **belong there, didn’t I? But not in that moment. I could only bite my quivering lip, slinking away with my head held low. “I...I…”

A high-pitched whistle saved me from having to come up with a retort. I whipped my head towards the sound, eager for a distraction, **_any_ **distraction, and laid eyes on a certain rust-haired girl with a scarf the colour of fresh apricots and her face rich with unmasked annoyance. Even that was nothing compared to the dismay of the boy she nodded to, standing atop the horseshoe table as he gazed down upon us with an oddly mother-like sense of disapproval.

“That is **_quite_ **enough!” Byakuya’s voice, once so calm and even, had become all-commanding, powerful as a sonic boom as he addressed the room like only an Ultimate Heir could. “You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves! I know you’re confused, frightened, and angry, but that is no excuse for turning on each other like animals! Can’t you see we are all that we have?”

A wave of emotion washed over the room, shame for some, plain discomfort for others. I took the chance to hobble away on my still-sore leg, slipping out of Ruth’s sight as she retreated back into her hood, unable to meet Byakuya’s (or Loriel’s) critical eye. All I wanted was to disappear, to vanish from the limelight. But as Byakuya began to speak once more, I caught the sound of my name and knew that wouldn’t be possible.

“Are you ok?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you ok?” his voice had gone soft once more, and I turned to see him surveying me like a doctor to their patient, lingering on my awkward leg. “You’re limping.”

I could feel Ruth’s eyes burning into my very soul. Refusing to show weakness, I lifted my head proudly and said, “Yes. There was a small...accident earlier, but it’s nothing I can’t handle”

Byakuya nodded, the approval flitting across his expression sparking a warm sense of pride within me. “Good. Now, as for the rest of you…” He paused, straightening his tie, and I could’ve sworn I caught sight of a faint smile dancing upon his lips as he prepared to address the class. Of course, leadership was his birthright. “...it would do us all well to focus our energy on a more productive means. We have four and a half hours until the assembly, I propose we use this time to perform a more thorough sweep of the school. Perhaps we’ll find something we missed yesterday.”

“There’s no need for that!” Ko boasted, shining with pride as he grinned past a mouthful of bacon crumbs. “ ** _I_** patrolled the entire school yesterday! And trust me, nothing gets past **_K.O’_** s expert eye!” He thumped his fist against his chest, a goofy salute to our leader.

Byakuya blinked at him. Clearly, he was more used to dealing with stuffy boardrooms full of suits and ties than a school Cafeteria filled with who he would surely stammer and call, _“_ ** _spirited_** _individuals"_. “That’s err...that’s very helpful, thank you, Ko. But we were all rather scrambled yesterday and even your, “expert eye” as you put it might have passed over something important. It is imperative that we get to know our surroundings, and each other, inside-out if we are to **_survive_**.” The word sent a ripple through the crowd and he knew it, waiting for the nervous mumblings to die down before continuing on with everyone’s full attention. “We will divide into three groups of four and one group of two. I’ll allow you to pick your own groupmates, of course, so long as there is no infighting. Decide who you will be with now. We’ll begin immediately after breakfast.”

He leapt off of the table before anyone could argue in a beeline towards Loriel, and while at first I assumed he was setting an example, the eagerness of his steps and the smile painted across his face gave him away in an instant. She met him more skeptically, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between him and their still-watching classmates. Neither of them seemed all too bothered by us, though, and before the shifting tide of multi-coloured heads swallowed up my sight I could see them speaking in hushed tones with their heads bowed low, lost in their own private bubble of regality. How strange...did they know each other?”

“ _Loriel’s the Ultimate Critic. That sounds high-class...I guess. Maybe they run in the same circles?_ ” I thought, and an unwanted twinge of panic fluttered in my chest at the idea. Where would I be when all of my classmates grouped up? Who would consider themselves to be at the same level as someone who was, apparently, **_just_ **a Lucky Student?

Glancing around, my fears only grew as I watched clusters begin to form like clots in the school’s bloodstream, with Sheela settling in beside Lucy, Ko, and Emmet while Vincent herded Shuto and Hibiki towards an awaiting Ume. Even Ruth had been laid claim to in a matter of minutes, coerced into teaming up with Loriel and Byakuya. “ _What about me?_ ” I wanted to scream, “ _I’m one of you! I’m_ **_like_ ** _you! I swear, I’m just like you…”_

One half-eaten piece of toast and a glass of orange juice later, I was sitting in The Dome, tasting the startlingly fresh air on my tongue. I couldn’t wrap my head around the **_oddity_ ** of it all. With the ghost-like breeze whispering through my hair and the springy, milk-white flowers popping up all across the lawn, so much beauty and colour and **_life_ ** all around me that should have long-since died within the artificial spring. Could they have been man-made? They looked real, smelled real, **_felt_ ** real, but how can you be sure? What makes a real thing... **_real?_ **

A butterfly fluttered by. It seemed “real” enough to me, but as it hopped from flower to flower in search of the sweetest nectar, I couldn’t ignore how it spent exactly 15 seconds prodding at each little bud. How timely. How undeniably unnatural.

“Weird...butterfly…” I mumbled to myself as I jotted the little anomaly down in my notepad. 

My groupmates and I hadn’t come together out of want. We were the leftovers of a class all too eager to divide, plain and simple, dispersed across The Dome in such an **_obviously_** telling way I had to smother the urge to tell them they weren’t slick or clever, that I knew **_exactly_** why Francine had stolen Hughes off into the surrounding buildings while Francis tucked himself away within the Gift Shop standing at the left-hand side of The Dome, unseen and unheard of since we began our investigation. Francine was wary of Francis. Francis did **_not_** care for Francine. Hughes stuck himself between the two and found one to be much, much more tolerable than the other.

And I...well, I had a butterfly to investigate.

“ _...Or_ **_do_ ** _I?_ ” Perking up, I realized that something so innocent as a butterfly could **_easily_ ** disguise a deeper, more sinister motive. “ _What if...it’s actually a camera! Our enemies could be watching us right now, we’ll_ **_never_ ** _find an escape route with them on our backs! I need to capture it immediately! It’s for the good of the class!_ ”

A shudder of excitement rolled through me as I rose to my knees, crouched and waiting like a cat ready to pounce. If the butterfly had enough intelligence to recognize the danger it was in, it didn’t show it, and as its wings fluttered in preparation for take-off I readied, aimed, and fired after it the moment its feet left the flower’s petals. To my amazement, the last thing I saw before I hit the ground rolling and grass swallowed up my vision was the butterfly zooming out of the way with incredible speed. “ _Ah-ha! I was right! There’s no way that’s natural!_ ”. Sure of myself and fizzing with anticipation I leapt after it again, ducking and diving as I chased after the little ariel acrobat until I had it safely ensnared between my fingers, its paper-thin wings tickling the palms of my hands.

“I did it! Haha! I did it!” I whooped and hollered, spinning around in merry circles until I realized what had to be done. At once I took off like a shot towards the Gift Shop, bounding across the cool green grass and skidding to a breathless halt before the miniature, purple-black pop-up tent. “Francis! Francis! I found something!”

“Hmm?” came my friend’s voice, oddly muted, as if the shop was a black hole sucking in sound. I nearly jumped out of my skin as his head popped up from behind the counter, his eyes bleary and drooping like he’d been asleep. He yawned. I assumed that meant I was right. “What’cha got there, Lucky Charms? Catch a ladybug or something?”

“Even **_better_** ,” I whispered, hoping the awe in my voice would provoke some interest, “Check **_this_ **out.”

With a soft “ _Dah-dah-daaaaa_ ” I cracked open my palms enough for Francis to catch a glimpse of my prize, holding my breath as he blinked indeterminately at the little creature. “Oh,” he said at last, “A butterfly.”

"Not just **_any_** butterfly. It’s a butter- ** _spy_**.”

“That’s a cute little pun and all, but can you **_please_** just give it to me straight? I’m so tired I want to butter- ** _cry_**.”

I shook my head in a show of mock-annoyance, but my unwavering smile gave me away. “Oh Francis, Francis, Francis, you’re no fun sometimes, you know tha-”

I didn’t get the chance to finish. Not when a silver-grey flash sliced past my very eyes as something rough and urgent struck the center of my palm where the butter-spy lay, sending it spiraling to the ground like a miniature plane crash. I stood there, mouth agape, as it gave a final, pain-stricken twitch before stilling entirely. Even then it’s murderer wasted no time in grinding their heel into the broken body until what was once so beautiful and elegant had become a twisted up mass of blood-stained clumps, soon to be nothing more than a stain across the grass. 

How strange it is to think that my first encounter with death came from a simple butterfly. 

“That was a very foolish thing to do, Sylvia!” the butter-spy (or rather, butter ** _fly_** , there was no doubt in my mind that the creature had been completely organic) killer spoke. It was Francine, her voice high with panic as she seized my hands to inspect them for visible wounds with an unprompted, skittish kind of concern. “We cannot trust a single aspect of this world! Even a perfectly harmless-seeming butterfly has the potential to be coated in toxins I haven’t a clue how to treat!”

I didn’t dare speak, silent as she carried out her meticulous work. Should I have been surprised? I’d met two Francines in such a short amount of time, one all gnashing teeth and scalpel blades and the other... ** _mellow_**. A girl made of sunlight and buttercups, every last bit of savage terror bled from her veins so in the end, it seemed they had been little more than puppet strings tugging along a poor, fragile girl who panicked under pressure, perhaps, but smiled with soft-hearted amusement when I tripped up over my words as had a laugh like the delicate beat of a dove’s wings.

Then again, she **_was_** rather eager to stomp a living, breathing creature to a quivering pulp...so who knew?

“Here. take these,” Francine’s voice, coupled with the sensation of a cold, damp wipe being pressed into my palm, pulled me from my musings. “I mustn't keep Hughes waiting. Make sure to wipe your hands thoroughly with these, and come find me immediately if you begin to experience any symptoms.” She smiled, taking some of the edge off of her surprisingly strict tone, before hurrying away without another word.

“...What on earth was **_that_** about?” I wondered allowed, but followed her instructions regardless. Stuffing the wipe in my pocket, I let my knees hit the cushion of grass beneath me as I leveled myself with the first victim of the Killing Game, silenced eternally by a death so brutal that, if it had been a person...no, I didn’t want to think about that. “Oh you poor little thing…”

Francis offered a sympathetic grunt. “Don’t tear yourself up about it. It was a **_butterfly_** , death comes for those things like plague to a rat.”

I didn’t bother gracing that with a response. Of **_course_ ** it was only a butterfly, a creature that wanders about the earth with little rhyme or reason before one day dropping dead in the dirt, but didn’t it **_mean_ ** something to him? The sight of death, of blood, however discoloured, of the hair-turned switch between alive and...and **_dead_ ** that could come for us at any second, how could he be so utterly cool or careless or calloused that it didn’t even **_phase_ **him? Even worse, what if everyone felt the way he did? What if it was only me, what if I was the only person so easily unravelled I crumbled at the sight of a crushed-up insect...could that really be true? Ultimate or not, wasn’t death a pill too hard for anyone to swallow?

But as it turned out, we wouldn’t have to.  
Because that pill had long since dissolved in the waters of our reality.

In the blink of an eye, something...something near-indescribable happened, like a record scratch, or the bloodless wounds of a computer monitor torn wide open. The ragged tatters of limbs and wings began to vibrate with an otherworldly intensity until it all at once exploded, no, **_imploded_** , millions of colours collapsing in on themselves just to wink out of existence like a trickster had stolen them away before our very eyes. But they wouldn’t stay missing. Because in place of a corpse, a butterfly, **_my_ **butterfly, beat its wings as if they’d never been broken at all, catching a breath of wind that carried it into the cradle of sky. Francis and I watched as it flew away in a state of stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had happened, or the terrible implications it brought along with it. 

“Huh...” It was Francis’ turn to take a chance on speaking, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Now, I’m no outdoorsman, but something about that seems a little **_buggy_**. Haha...oh, what the **_fuck?_** ”

The butterfly gave no implication of knowing the consequences it had on the very world around us. Content to wander towards the Gymnasium, it neither slowed nor sped up as I flew to my feet and tore across the carpet of grass towards it, leaving a bewildered Francis in my wake, and though I could hear him calling out to me, my senses had become trained with pin-point precision on my target so everything else faded to grey-scale in the background. Hot in pursuit, I ducked under the fairy tale bridge, skirted the pond, and wove through the gap between the Gymnasium and Dormitory, springing after it with hands that could only grasp at feather-like wing tips...

Pain shot up from my wounded ankle, and I staggered, letting out an agonized yelp as I crashed to the ground. _“This is it! I'll never catch up to it now!”_ my mind's voice wailed. And it was right. I didn’t, but someone else did, a savior in the shape of a chef who came into sight at the opposite end of the alleyway with awkward, jerking movements, gone stiff with panic.

“Francis!” I gasped, unable to right myself no matter how I clawed at the ground, “It’s up to you! Catch it!”

“ ** _What!?_** ” he screamed back incredulously. But I couldn’t reply in time, and in a split-second decision he yanked the chef’s hat from his head and swiped it through the air like a makeshift butterfly net, ensnaring his target in one fell swoop. At the risk of letting the creature escape he crammed the hat back onto his head...but from the sickly gurgle that bubbled in the back of his throat, I could tell he hadn’t quite thought that one through.

I cheered him on anyway, crying, “Hurray! Way to go, Fran-Fran! Show ‘em who’s boss!” as I found my footing and limped across the alleyway towards him. But humor was a lost cause and I knew it. As we met in the middle, we were breathless for more reasons than one, his dark, hickory eyes reflecting every nameless emotion welling up in my chest so I knew what we had discovered couldn’t be ignored, no matter how impossible facing it might turn out to be. 

“...Now what?” he asked, a soft echo of my own doubts.

I opened my mouth, but had no words to offer. It was pure muscle memory, an automatic reaction to the sight of misery I had faith in my abilities to sooth with fluffy words or a gentle, heart-felt touch, but in that moment...I had nothing. “I...I don’t know,” I admitted, and though the sense of being vulnerable, of being at the mercy of another’s changing whims, made my skin crawl, I found solace in the fact that at least it was him. “I’ll figure something out, I promise, but right now I just don’t know.”

Somewhere in the distance, someone began to scream, and I knew our classmates had returned.


	6. Fragmented Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the assembly. With her world turned upside-down, Sylvia will soon have to decide how far she will go to keep her classmates out of harm's way...even when the most dangerous challenge of their lives is the only path towards victory. It's a rough world for a Lucky Student...

“So...does anyone have any idea what we’re going to tell the others?”

As it turned out, the scream I’d heard came from Vincent at the sight of Ko’s newly earned broken nose, a sight that would allegedly continue to “disgust and appal” them long after the day had passed. Despite that little disturbance, though, Byakuya managed to funnel us all into the Cafeteria in no more than two ticks of the clock’s hand. And to be fair, what was there to stop him? Scanning the crowd as I walked, I couldn’t spot a single pale, twisted face taunt with fear to match the ones my groupmates and I had to work to conceal at the risk of causing a panic, besides Ko, it seemed that everyone had come back safe and sound and satisfied, stretching in the sunlight like old cats. A sense of responsibility began to overtake me, and with a pang of fright I realized what we chose to say could very well shift the fragile balance of our group in a way none of us could ever hope to repair. 

“ _Maybe it’s best if we don’t bring it up at all. It’s not like we know what it means, or even if it really happened! Francis and I could’ve imagined the whole thing! Mass hallucinations are a thing, aren’t they? What if we tell the others what we saw and five minutes later everyone’s running around like Chicken Little thinking the sky’s falling down!?_ ”

It was Hughes’ question that pulled me back to the present, knowing beyond a shred of doubt that we’d cemented our fate the moment Francis and I let slip what happened to the rest of our groupmates. What’s that old saying about secrets? Two can keep a secret, so long as the other one’s dead? We were ruined two times over with no point in hiding, left to let ideas of how to take the next step ping around in our heads without ever coming up with an answer. Until Francine spoke. 

“I think we should be honest,” she began, her every word slow and deliberate. She hadn’t been able to meet anyone’s eyes since the…“ **_reveal_ **”, and even then she bowed her head as she spoke, hidden behind the sparkling curtain of her hair. “Nothing good will come from sugar coating it. They’re going to find out eventually, if not from the butterfly then...something else. This might be the only chance we have to give it to them softly.”

I nodded along, resisting the urge to reach out and take her hand as her finger drummed against the table with such fervor you could believe she was trying to burn a hole straight through the wood. “Good idea, Francine! But don’t you think we should try and come up with **_some_ ** kind of an explanation first? It might soften the blow.”

“But there **_is_ **no explanation,” Hughes cut in, gentle, but firm. Though he’d proven to be the calmest of us all, his eyes held a distant, haunted quality to them that even he couldn’t grin and ignore. “Sorry guys. Afronts against nature aren’t exactly my area of expertise.”

Francis didn’t say a word. I think the fact that we’d found an actual butterfly net in the Gift Shop had taken a bit of a mental toll on him. “I’m really sorry you got stuck with that thing, Fran.”

His head turned at the sound of my voice, but that didn’t mean he saw me. “It’s fine,” he gritted out, vacant, spare for a grim sense of resignation. “It’s ab-so-lutely **_fine_**. Who knows, maybe it knows how to cook. Maybe it'll be like Ratatouille. I can be Linguini. I can be **_fucking_ **Linguini.” 

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

Not that I had to, anyways. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Byakuya leap-frogging onto the horseshoe table as a hush of silence fell over the crowd, anticipation making the very air buzz like a beehive as he straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and addressed us with an aura of calm that felt so, so out of place knowing what I knew. “It’s good to see you all back here safe and sound,” he began, shooting Ko a sympathetic smile as he dabbed at his nose with a blood-crusted tissue, “I’ll make this as quick as I possibly can. Ko, does your group have anything to report?”

“Ha! Do we ever!” In spite of his injury, Ko had no absence of enthusiasm as he leapt to his feet, slammed his free hand on the table, and announced, in a bold and boisterous voice, “Even my **_expert eye_ ** can’t see things that aren’t there, that’s why the door between classrooms A and B and the staircase leading upstairs must’ve popped up overnight! That’s gotta be our next step! Why else would they show up out of the blue?”

A bud of excitement began to push past my anxiety. “ _New places to explore! What if that’s where we’ll find answers about the butterfly? The timing’s too perfect to be a coincidence!_ ” I squirmed in my seat, wordlessly pleading for Ko to keep talking...until Sheela leaned back in her seat with a groan of annoyance, pinching the bridge of her nose. I wilted. 

“Christ, dude. You’re really gonna make me say it? It’s like shooting Old Yeller…” She blinked open her eyes, lips curling in a grin laced with second-hand guilt. “The door’s scribbled on in crayon and the staircase is blocked off by bars. Where’d you think this mongrel got his bloody nose?”

Undeterred, Ko grinned at her past pink-stained teeth. “You should see the bars! They won’t be forgetting **_me_ **in a hurry!”

“Yeah, I think being remembered for your idiocy is the last thing you have to worry about,” Lucy interjected, gesturing to the crowd with a broad wave of her hand. “Seriously! For someone stuck in a Killing Game, your priorities are **_totally_ **out of wack.”

His face fell.

Sheela nudged Lucy with her elbow. “C’mon Luce, lay off the poor guy,” she chided her before tossing her thumb towards Emmet, who sat somewhat apart from the rest of the group with his fingers closed around a miniature whiteboard. “Good news is, Sparky’s got something to share that I think might come in handy.”

Emmet offered a grateful nod, shuffling closer to, and behind, Sheela as all eyes turned to him. He tapped the crude drawing of a smiling face scrawled across the whiteboard as he lit up with a grin, then turned the board, shaped the mouth into a frown, and spun it back to show us as he pursed his face into a sour pout. Oh! Had Emmet finally found a comfortable way to communicate?

“ _But he shouldn’t have to!_ ” a part of my mind screamed, anger flaring up within me as my eyes shifted from him to Shuto, their Forbidden Action bracelets tight against their skin, “ _I would learn sign language if I could talk to Emmet. I would befriend Shuto if I could get close to him. How on earth are we going to get through this when we’re alway tip-toeing around each other? It isn’t fair! But I guess that’s the point...we’re not as strong when we’re divided._ ”

Even as my fury subsided, an empty, gnawing sensation took hold, guilt eating at me from the inside-out. Emmet was the one who had to live in fear of every word that danced on the tip of his tongue, not me. Shuto had to sit alone in a self-imposed isolation, not me. What right did I have to curse out our Mastermind when they had let me off so **_easily?_ **

“ _I’ll figure something out. I can_ **_help_ ** _them. There’s gotta be a way I can make my place here worthwhile…”_

Even in the wake of my newfound resolve, a part of me felt hollow. Attention waning, I could hardly focus on Vincent as Byakuya moved on to their group, detailing the discovery of a something-or-other I couldn’t drag myself into awareness of and only watch, half tuned-in, as Vincent crooned over their partner as she recounted...something about a chainsaw? What?

“I tried my best, but to no avail.” Ume’s airy sigh wove its way into my consciousness. “We searched the entire Nurse’s Office for a key, but alas, it seemed the only possible way to open the medicine cabinet was to get a little, hmm, **_creative_ **.” She grinned widely, making a hacking motion with her hands as she mimicked the maniacal swing of a chainsaw. “And yet, it didn’t work! It’s such a shame...Monokuma said it would be a tough nut to crack, but I always considered myself an expert on busting nuts.”

The room went silent.

“...What the **_fuck_ **is wrong with you?” Ruth said.

“Absolutely nothing!” Vincent gasped, taking more offense from her words than Ume herself. “I dare say your group could not possibly come up with a discovery that exceeded that of my darling Ume! Well? Am I mistaken? Speak, you egg!”

“Egg?” Ruth echoed. But she didn’t argue further, shifting uncomfortably under Vincent’s expectant glare (you could say he was... **_egging her on_ **).

“No one is saying what your group found is any less important than what we found,” Byakuya calmly assured him. “My groupmates and I investigated the Change Rooms and Pool. You’ll be happy to know that the weaponry guarding them is mostly for show.”

“ ** _Mostly_ ** being the key word here,” Loriel continued, “In-between the two rooms, there is a small device hooked up to the wall where you scan your Monopad, and the first time you do this you will be presented with the option to select whichever change room you prefer to use. You’re effectively locked out of the other unless you either gain permission from someone who uses the room, or ask Monokuma to let you rescan your device and adjust your preferences. You can only do this once every month, but I can’t possibly see that being much of an issue.” 

Sheela chuckled at that. “Weirdly tolerant policy for a murder school, but alright.”

Byakuya carried on the conversation from there. Not quite listening, I let my eyes drift through the crowd until they locked onto Hibiki, her gaze glittering with a deep sense of intelligence that sent a shiver rolling down the back of my neck all the way to the base of my spine. “ _Why does she look like she knows something? It’s like she’s already figured me out! But that can’t_ **_possibly_ ** _be right...right? What, is she secretly the Ultimate Detective or something!?_ ” 

I forced myself to break our second of connection, scared she’d tear me right open if I let her. Maybe I could have convinced myself to look past the light of knowledge she held, to latch onto something so superficial as her clothing and scream, “ _Look there! That’s not what a detective would wear, no way, no how_ ”. But then...what **_was_ **she? The garment she wore did not offer any hints, a simple, hoodie-like dress with rabbit ears folded down towards each side like pipe cleaners, a dark, wine red in colour with sparkling lace accents of gold. Brown pigtails spilled down to her shoulders, poking out from the depths of her hood. Though small, she held an air of mystery to her rivaled only by Loriel, and if I hadn’t wrenched my attention to Byakuya as he began to stumble over his words like a scrap of clothing caught on a door handle, I might have taken the time to wonder how a group of people could be so flashy and bold, yet foggy all the same, the mist surrounding them so thick even I couldn’t fight my way through. 

“One of the lockers in the Men’s Change Room is...jammed.” He paused, an almost unnoticeable gap he covered up with an intake of air. “Luckily, it seems to be an extra. There are sixteen in total and fifteen of us, so we should be able to make do.”

What a suspicious way of speaking! “How much you wanna bet he broke it by accident?” I joked, prodding Francis’ side in a bid for his attention. He didn’t respond. He’d gone stiff with a bone-deep sense of suspicion, and as the hair on the back of my neck rose, I knew, somehow, it was in tune with his. “ _Byakuya’s hiding something. But if that’s the case, we’re probably better off not knowing…right?_ ”

“So then...that leaves us with Hughes’ group.”

Oh no. 

I froze up, blinking away my daydreams as the spotlight fell to my groupmates and I, prying, hungry eyes ready to eat up any information we had to offer. But with a greedy sense of relief, I realized who exactly Byakuya had called upon. Hughes. Our leader, apparently, his brown eyes gleaming with surprise in the light, swung his head between Francis, Francine, and I, and poked at his chest, mouthing, “Me?”. I flashed him an encouraging thumb-up, hoping he didn’t sense how grateful I was he’d, somewhat unceremoniously, taken the fall for us. 

“Well, uh, it’s kind of a funny story…” he began, tongue-tied and flushed with embarrassment, “Francine and I, we, err...ok, first of all it’s important to know that this was a **_group_ ** effort so if you’re going to be angry at Francis and Sylvia, you’re going to have to be angry at Francine and I t-”

“What Hughes is **_trying_ ** to say...” Francine very quickly interjected, “...is that Hughes and I were the ones who found the series of rooms at the back of the Dormitory while the other two were out galavanting about.” She shot Francis and I a pointed look, sharpened by a sense of urgency, as if to say “ _Keep your story straight! There’s no place for lies in what we have to say!_ ”. “There’s a laundromat, a closet containing an array of clothing, more than we’ll need while we’re trapped here, and...a catwalk.” She frowned, her brow furrowing as she went on in a low, hushed tone,, “I...I don’t understand the catwalk. It’s set so far back into the Dormitory building that it cannot possibly fit within its dimensions...and yet it does! It **_taunts_ **me with its mathematical impossibility. At this point I cannot tell whether it’s my perception of reality that’s slipping, or the world itself, and I can’t tell which is more terrifying!” Her final words rose sharply into a wail as she buried her face in her arms. She didn’t show signs of stirring as Francis picked up where she’d fallen.

“Well **_we_ **found a Gift Shop, so...galavanting my ass.”

Byakuya’s eyes flickered between us, pitying and uncertain. “Are you alright?” he asked, “Did something happen? If so, now’s the time to speak up.” When none of my groupmates responded, already having their fill of confessions, all attention came to rest on me. “Sylvia?”

Oh, why did I ever chase after that stupid butterfly? “It’s...um, like Hughes said, it’s kind of a funny story!” I laughed shakily, having to pry open my mouth through power of will, “So there was this butterfly, right? Fran-no- ** _I_ ** found it flying around The Dome and-”

A snort burst from the crowd, scattered giggles rising up along with it. From an outsider’s view, I realized, we’d all gone completely mad, melting down over building sizes and insects and everything else no one else would ever pay any mind to. A Lucky Student parading about her line of fools, what a wonderful circus act! Furious, I puffed out my chest as it swelled with words I couldn’t wait to hurl back at everyone who’d brushed me off so carelessly, “ _Just you wait, this Lucky Student’s got an ace up her sleeve!_ ”

“Ahem! Ahem! Attention, everyone!”

Monokuma’s voice might as well have been a shock of electricity sent coursing through the room. Looking to the monitor, I saw it’s face fuzzed up with static grinning coldly as it watched us all jerk back in surprise. “Hello hello hello! Aren’t you all forgetting something? It’s five past 12 o’clock and not a single one of you has so much as **_glanced_ **towards the Gymnasium? Are you daft? But I’ll forgive you, one brainless schmuck to another, just get over here! Come on! Hurry! Hurry! Before I slice your pretty little faces like fresh deli meat!”

The monitor shut off. 

Visibly shaken, Byakuya opened his mouth to give the order to move. He was soon drowned out, however, by the symphony of a dozen chair legs grating against tile as every single one of my classmates, without fail, rose to their feet and began making their way towards the exit. Curiously enough, many of the groups stuck together. Even as they had to squeeze past the Cafeteria doors in awkward, shoulder-to-shoulder chunks like mismatched tetris blocks, they only ever paused to question their actions in a way that could have just as easily been caused by the fact that they’d so seamlessly eased back into old habits they should have evolved past. To them, an assembly was an assembly, no matter who held it. 

“ _Oh yeah...they all went to highschool, just like me. They’re hot-shots now, sure, but once they were regular kids._ ” 

Could I use that? Take Emmet’s spade and dig up old roots just to see if they linked us together? How much would I uproot in the process, and, once unburied, could I truly, honestly promise I’d be able to seal everything back up again? Everyone’s covered in sore spots. You have to be delicate if you want to try your hand at playing acupuncturist. 

I was one to know. I had the perfect example walking right alongside me. 

“You doing alright, Fran?” I asked my companion, side-eyeing his ruined complexion and limp, swaying steps, his every movement made as if his legs had become glass so brittle they might shatter if he acted too brashly. All at once, the memory of cutting him out of my klutzy explanation slammed into me full-force. Was he upset? It wasn’t too difficult to convince myself he was. “I’m sorry!” I blurted out in a blind panic, “I didn’t mean to exclude you! I-I didn’t think it was fair for you to take the fall with me if the others handled the news badly!”

It took some time for the fog in his head to clear. “Huh? What are you...oh. **_Ooooooh_**.” A gravelly laugh rumbled in his throat. “Don’t tear yourself up about it. My reputation’s already in the gutter, I might as well take a fall or two with you.” His words were oddly intimate, and he caught onto it in a flash, red creeping up the skin of his neck as he ducked his head aside and muttered, “Nevermind. Don’t give me brownie points for something I haven’t even done.”

Too late. I didn’t argue with him, offering a smile rather than words I knew he’d take to like a moth to a flame so they burnt up on impact...but that proved volatile in itself. He couldn’t disguise the pleasure written across his face even as he picked up his pace, hurrying onwards so I was left to follow shortly after, grinning ear-to-ear.

It wasn’t long before we crossed the fairy tale bridge, the Gymnasium looming over us with basketballs and licorce-coloured jumprope littering the lawn as if children had passed through to play, a paper-thin mask concealing the terror clinging to the building like smoke that refused to dissipate, or ash that wouldn’t settle. It doesn’t take long for such horrific patterns to imprint on your brain. One sour moment, and the entire song is off-key. Even Francis hesitated, an unreadable shadow flickering through him as we took a breath and dove inside, ready as we’d ever be for what was about to come.

“We’re here!” Byakuya’s voice reverberated strongly throughout the room, empty save for the classmates that had already spilled inside. Gesturing for Francis to follow, I wormed my way through the crowd to get a better look at our leader, who stood at the forefront of the pack before a stage sporting only a single, oaken podium. A shudder of disgust churned within me as I recognized it. 

“Isn’t that the same podium from yesterday?” I whispered to my companion, straining to be heard over the drone of voices muttering with quiet uncertainty. “I don’t like the looks of this…”

Francis gave a grunt in response, matching my own queasiness, and bout of familiar laughter saved us both from looking like touchy, oversensitive fools as Monokuma popped out from behind the podium with an almost identical flourish to the day before, memories I’d much rather have forgotten resurfacing at the sight of it. And from the mocking glint in its eye, I knew it was fully aware of itself. At first it stood firmly, professionally, even, in the center of the podium with its back straight and its chin held high...only for a shiver to shoot through it from the tips of its ears to the pads of its paws as it jumped to the stage floor, dancing about with erratic, inhuman movements. 

Byakuya approached it, quivering from nerves. “Why have you gathered us here?” he rasped. “I...I **_command_ **you to give us whatever information you have this instant!”

“Some Hier he is,” Francis grumbled, and I lightly swatted his arm as Monokuma tipped its head to the side, regarding Byakuya with faint amusement.

“Aw, how cute! Is the wittle Hier cranky now that he doesn’t have Daddy’s goons backing up his every word? Tough luck, bucko! You’re just going to have to get used to picking at scraps like the rest of us! And speaking of…” Suddenly thoughtful, it began to pace back and forth restlessly across the stage. “I’ve thought long and hard about how much information to give you, how far to take this, how much originality we can pack in before we risk diverging completely from the very thing we’re supposed to be perfecting! It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that much. But I think I’ve finally figured it out. I’m ready now. Ready to take the next step.” It paused, looking out over the sea of heads spread out beneath it. “Do you have **_any_ **idea where we are?”

“What do **_you_ ** think?” Ume was the first to speak, her voice drenched in fake nonchalance. “Even **_I_ ** can’t be expected to recognize a place so warped and twisted, and that’s saying something!”

“That might be the point, my dear,” Vincent pointed out, massaging Ume’s shoulders as they eased her hidden worries. 

Byakuya nodded eagerly (he must’ve been relieved to find someone so vocally sound of mind). “Vincent’s right. Our best guess would have to be Mount Everest or Mount Fuji, or possibly deep within Mount Tokachi...but even then, the risk of us being discovered would be too high. Wherever we are, it’s an incredibly low-traffic area with little chance of us recognizing it.” 

“What about the Columbia Mountains?” Ko, piped up, “That place is huge! Sure it’s in Canada, but it’s not like I’ve seen it before! No one **_actually_ **lives in British Columbia, it’s all bears and deer and starving nature documeritans up there!”

Lucy arched an eyebrow, skeptic and no doubt annoyed, but from the tease-dripped tone of her voice I could tell she relished the chance to poke fun at her classmate. “Look, I know you’re all tree-hugging lumberjacks and maple syrup fanatics up there, but even **_I_ ** know that’s not right.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your degree in Canadian Geography huh? **_Huh?_ ** I bet you’ve never even **_seen_ ** a maple tree you...you...gah! I don’t even care about America enough to know how to insult you!”

Just then, Monokuma’s enraged cry shattered the very air as it swept a hateful eye over us, and though it might’ve been born from paranoia, I could’ve sworn its gaze held a note of satisfaction as it came to rest on me. “Don’t be too hasty now,” it purred, “I only asked where you **_think_ **we are, I never said you could possibly know the right answer! I might have promised you the world, but I never said which one!”

Byakuya took a step back, stunned into silence.

Francis took a step forward. I watched, shocked, as he lifted his head and snarled, “Spit it out!” with so much venom the blood in my veins curdled. 

Monokuma gasped, unable to restrain its glee. “Fran **_cis!_ ** I always knew I could count on you! Ok, ok, I’ll explain, but only because you asked **_so_ ** politely.” It bounced onto the podium, its every move hitting me with a new kind of heaviness as if, deep down, a part of me already knew exactly what was coming. Spreading its arms in the air like a conductor about to command the most beautiful symphony, it spoke in a voice that splintered our reality into a million fragmented pieces like a hammer straight to a mirror. “Right here, right now, we are standing on the precipice of glory! But not just any glory either, this is the kind you can only find within a world of our own design, a **_simulation_**.”

“ _...What?_ ”

“A simulation?” Lucy echoed, the shudder in her voice perfectly echoing the one in my heart. But that tremble soon morphed into a laugh rife with bitterness as she whirled around to study my classmates and I with fierce eyes seeking out weakness, throwing her arm towards Monokuma as she screamed, “We can’t **_seriously_ ** believe this, can we?” When no one answered, she let out a rough bark of annoyance and, in the blink of an eye, shot towards our Headmaster with her hands curled into battle-hungry fists. “Who do you work for, cretin! Answer me! **_Lucy Maya_ ** won’t be pushed around by some hot-shot government official who thinks they’re better than her!”

“Luce, wait!” cried a silver-grey blur as they burst from the crowd, halting Lucy in her tracks. It was Ko, standing between his former groupmate and her target like a shield...or so I thought. “ **_I_ ** called dibs on confronting Monokuma, remember?! Geez! Just sit back and let **_K.O_ ** handle it already!” With a self-assured grin he spun on his heels to face the creature, and I feared he’d try to attack Monokuma himself until he jabbed a finger in its face and hollered, “Hey, you! There’s no point in lying about something so random! Either give us the truth, or I’ll give you a black eye...in your not-black eye!”

“He has a point,” Francine’s voice wavered beside me, pitifully weak against the outcry. “Why **_would_ **it lie about something so...unusual?”

“Exactly!” Ko cheered her on...until the double entendre of her words sunk in, and his naive-coloured eyes clouded over with confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Enough!” Monokuma’s hiss brought silence to the room. Letting out a sigh of discontent, it massaged its forehead as if the stress of the situation it’d brought on all by itself was becoming much too difficult for it to handle, as if we were supposed to **_pity_ ** it. “Goodness! If I knew you were going to be **_this_ ** thick-headed, I would’ve given myself more time to drive the idea into your skulls! No matter, I know **_exactly_ **what kind of convincing you need!”

In a flash of movement, it jumped, clicked its heels, and brought the world to its knees.

In an instant, the ground began to rumble, a muted growl whipped up into a howl of fury as if the very planet itself hated us. On instinct I fell to the floor with my eyes screwed shut and my hands clapped over my ears, waiting for the sensation of ground surging upwards to reverberate through me as we were plunged into an upwards spiral, shrieks of terror bursting free from my classmates in a sickening crescendo. “ _What on earth is Monokuma doing?!_ ” I thought frantically, “ _We’ve already seen the mountains, what else is there to show us? Ack! I jinxed it!_ ”

Little did I know how out of my league I truly was. With a horrific, ear-bleeding screech the roof pried itself open like the gaping jaws of a beast, but that time there was no glass to keep us safe, no protection from the bitter sting of winter. Snowflakes tore at my exposed skin, swirling around me in fast-moving flurries like tiny fish darting about wildly to escape a predators attack. The very air around me left painful lashes across my lungs until every breath I took became torture. But at the very least, I had an expectation. I could allow myself some semblance of relief, knowing I’d done it before, that I survived once, and nothing was stopping me from surviving once again. 

Until my feet left the floor.

The ground vanished beneath me, a frightened yelp scarring up my already raw throat as I hurtled head over heels through open air like a rocket ship blasting through the clouds, set off for the moon. I no longer felt cold. Or scared. Or even surprised. I felt nothing, hollow from shock, as I reached the peak and hovered mid-air for the longest split-second of my life, and as my eyes gained traction, the world around me exploded into focus.

Beyond the mountains, sloping gently into a valley, a massive stretch of desert was speckled with the faintest imprint of oases, sand dunes, rocky outcrops, and needle-tip pools of water that flickered in and out of sight as upkickings of sand danced across the land, shimmering in the sunlight. Even further beyond, a dark swath of jungle sat like a great shadow cast across the land. There, the trees were almost as tall as the mountains surrounding us, interlaced with swarms of vines like vegetation veins, thick as the school itself. It was...magical. Awe-inspiring. **_Terrifying_**.

It was...rising?

Gravity kicked in, sucking us back to the earth. My stomach flipped over as the sensation of falling much too fast and much too far overtook me and I plummeted to the ground like a meteorite in freefall. None of my classmates cried out. And neither did I, as far as we were concerned, it was pointless. But I hardly remember that, no, what really sticks out in my mind is the image of my own hands outstretched in front of me, grasping at the cool blue of sky, trying to hold onto the clouds themselves…

And just like that, I blinked, and my palms were pressed against the gymnasium floor like they’d never left it at all.

I gasped, my chest all at once contorting with pain as if it’d been ripped inside-out. “What…” I managed to rasp, “...just happened?”

“Satisfied?” Monokuma trilled in response. It already sounded bored. “I’m going to go ahead and take your silence as a yes.”

I couldn’t beg to differ. Heaving for breath, I crouched on the floor with limbs like jelly that only stood strong out of sheer determination not to falter. I couldn’t say I had such a solid grasp on my mind, though. It reeled with scatterings of barely legible thoughts, and I closed my eyes, clamoring to get a grip before I slipped into panic. “ _Stay calm...stay calm...panic spreads like wildfire, if you freak out, everyone might follow!_ ”

I finally managed to raise my head, spurred on by concern for my poor classmates. At first, all I saw was Monokuma beckoning to us as it slipped behind the curtain, one paw pressed against its mouth like a child covering up a giggle. Did it want us to follow? Were we really going to take that risk? I searched for Byakuya, and found him forcing his legs to bend to his will as he hauled himself towards our Headmaster with his face pinched tight with pain, only just managing to drag himself over the stage in the aftershock of an adrenaline rush. 

“Wait!” he cried out, his leaderly tone deserting him as he chased after Monokuma like a lost child after its mother. “You can’t leave us here! I am Byakuya Togami, and I command you to get back here this instant! That’s an order! Hey!” He staggered behind the curtain like a freshly-revived zombie, the shadows swallowing him up until he vanished from sight.

Unease took hold of the room in the wake of his departure. Even after such a short period of time, I realized, we’d come to rely upon, or at the very least anticipate, his guidance, and he really couldn’t have picked a worse time to abandon us. But I could help. I had my wits. I had my legs. I had my luck, and no matter how little worth it held in the other’s eyes, I would still trust it with my life. What else was there for an Ultimate Lucky Student to do?

Ignoring the weakness plaguing my body, I stumbled to my feet and pulled myself onto the stage, fighting to keep steady not only under my own weight, but that of my classmate’s judgement as their attention was brought to me. “Come on!” I hissed, twisting my neck like a bottle cork as I fixed them urgent, tugging eyes. “Byakuya needs us! We can’t leave him to face what we just saw alone!” 

Not bothering to waste time waiting for a rallying cry, I peeled back the curtains, prepared to march in alone if I had to.

...Black.  
Pure black.

Nothing was distinct. No walls, ceiling, or floor made their presence boldly known, and only the most shadow-like of outlines signaled that what I had found had depth, and was more than a cut-out prop made of construction paper. There was no exit. No Byakuya, or Monokuma either. There was only emptiness...and an entrance. 

I slid the curtain shut. “...On second thought, would Byakuya **_really_ **want us to go charging into danger after him?”

“Scared?” a voice startlingly close to my ear sneered, and I leapt aside to find Ruth had somehow, in complete silence, popped up at my side with a snort of contempt and an oddly confident gleam to her eyes. Paying me little mind, she stomped past the curtains and into pitch blackness, only pausing to cast a lackluster glance over her shoulder. “Frankly, I don’t give a shit if any of you losers follow me. I’m going. This is **_just_ **getting good.” She grinned, free of second-guesses, and her flame red hair became the only splash of colour against emptiness as she let the hallway’s shadows swamp her in absolute darkness. 

I blinked, dumbstruck in her wake. “ _When did Ruth get so sure of herself?_ ”

But I have to give credit where credit is due. Because her confidence triggered something I can’t say for sure I could have ever achieved on my own, **_movement_**. Footsteps sounded behind me, and I, afraid that if I hesitated, I would find myself stuck in place, swallowed the fear creeping up the back of my throat and followed in the path Ruth had burned into the floor. 

The others mimicked my movements, if only because the thought of being left alone and unprotected, free of the sense of herd mentality slowly overtaking us, won them over to my side. We were better together. Like chopsticks easily snapped on their own, but unbreakable when bundled together, I could sense their subdued apprehension morphing into a cautious sense of excitement as their presence enveloped me and two became fourteen, seeking out our one missing piece. I used it as fuel, letting it guide me away from the light as we plunged into a darkness more pure than I had ever known... 

“Francis...what’s a simulation?”

“Huh?”

The off-kilter melody of shoes clacking against flooring I couldn’t identify muffled his response, but not his tone, so rich with disbelief I could very clearly picture the shape his face took on as he turned his head and stared at me as if I’d suggested we trek off into the gloom alone like outlaws on the run. I had to stifle a smile (though he likely wouldn’t have been able to make it out). Even in darkness so deep we’d turned into barely-distinguishable blobs, I could read him like a book every time. How was it he came so easily to me? I wished my words would act the same.

“I...I’ve never had much experience with computers. It **_is_ **a computer thing, right?”

“In this case, yeah, probably.”

“So we’re stuck in a computer?”

He didn’t reply.

“But that doesn’t really **_change_ ** anything,” I pressed, sensing the discomfort that not only he, but everyone else carried like deadweight as we tread our uncertain path. “Even if these aren’t our real bodies, they still get hungry and tired and hurt, we’re still in a murder game, **_and_ **we could still be rescued at any time! It’s weird, sure, but at the end of the day it’s really not the worst thing that could have happened to us. I don’t think it is, anyways.”

My stomach lurched, betraying my own unease to myself. “ _Why did these horrible stomach aches have to follow me here? I don’t even_ **_have_ ** _a stomach!_ ”

I hoped Francis would have something comforting to offer, even in a sickly saccharine kind of way. But when he spoke, his voice rough and cold as jagged metal, I knew it’d been a foolish wish. “If we’re supposed to believe this game has any real stakes, then it’s gotta be a “die in the game and you die in real life” type of situation.” He scoffed, a small “ _puh_ ” rich with disgust. “This is ridiculous. So we can do anything we want to these bodies, and as long as we don’t die, our real ones will never know the difference? That’s a **_threat?_ **”

The chill in his words sent a shiver down my spine (and such a convincingly real one, too). Unsure of myself, I placed a hand over my chest and felt the echo of a heartbeat thud against my skin. That was real enough. I pressed two fingers into the crook between my neck and jawline where my pulse thumped happily away, unaware of what it was or what it meant. That was real enough. I bit down on my finger. It left indentations in my skin. That was real enough. **_I_ ** was real enough. 

“Even if these aren’t our real bodies, they’re kind of like summer homes! We’ll live in them until it’s time to leave, so please, take care of it.”

I heard a small intake of breath, as if he was about to speak, but a new voice jumped in before he eeked out a word. 

“Whatcha clucking about?” Sheela asked out of nowhere, her smooth voice startling me in a way it never would in the comfort of light. I gave a small jump as she slung an arm lazily around my shoulder, her teeth showed off in a grin shining with a faint white glow. The rest of her had completely melted into the backdrop. I’d need night vision goggles to make out more than the faint outline of her body.

“Sheela! Um, we were just-”

“Relax, I already know. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re **_kinda_ ** the only ones talking. You’re making it hard **_not_ **to eavesdrop.”

“Oh...right.” I shifted uncomfortably, squirming against what felt like having a passage of my diary read out-loud. To Sheela’s credit, she let her arm fall away once she sensed it, letting her guise of cool fall away so she could better sink into the tense atmosphere.

“This is pretty fucked up, huh? I didn’t even know this kind of tech **_existed_**.” She tried to laugh. It came out closer to a moan. “Guess it's hard to deny now that we’re getting the, ah, **_hands-on-experience_**.”

“Um? **_Excuse_ **me!? You’re missing the most important part!” Lucy interjected herself into the conversation with a shrill sense of disappointment, falling into step beside Sheela so she could fix her (or at least her general direction) with a scrutinizing glare. “Since when is Monokuma a reliable source? Trusting it is like quoting an article you found on the third page of a Google search. You let yourself take a quick peek and the next thing you know, you’ve been directed to a dating site for single Scandinavian women over 50 and some bozo with a month’s worth of computer knowledge has your credit card info. It’s like the world’s worst sugar.”

“Alright, then. What’s **_your_ ** theory, Blue?”

“I’m glad you asked! Personally, **_I_ ** believe this is the work of a colourless, odorless, hallucinogenic gas. The Mastermind releases it whenever they need to bend our perception of reality, and as long as they sprinkle a bit of subliminal messaging here and there, they can make sure we all see more or less the same thing! Hell, for all we know we’ve all been hooked up to a machine pumping chemicals into our bodies to keep us knocked out for days at a time! This whole Killing Game is a shared dream controlled by **_the government_ ** to test some kind of scientific theory! I can **_smell_ **it.” As if to prove her point, she stuck up her nose and sniffed noisily at the empty air. 

I merely blinked at her, afraid to speak a word. “ _Did she just say_ **_Mastermind?_ ** _Does she know something? Is she like_ **_me?_ **”

“ ** _That’s_ ** your big theory? That we’re all tripping balls in some sci-fi government facility?” Francis scoffed. “Shit, you could sell that to Hollywood. You’d make a better screenwriter than a journalist, anyways.”

Sheela swore under her breath.

Lucy **_fumed_**. Within the darkness, I could imagine steam pouring out of her ears as her face went red as fire-burnt coals. “I didn’t think that’d be a problem for **_you_ **of all people,” she hissed venomously, “It wouldn’t be the first time you-”

“Shut up,” Francis snapped, matching her intensity beat for beat. 

“Ah! How **_dare_ ** you! What makes you think **_I_ **take criticism from no-good lowlife ju-”

Suddenly, a low-pitched, electric buzz ate up Lucy’s words as a lightning bolt of silver light shot past our feet, illuminating my companions’ awe-struck expressions as it raced down the hallway and exploded in a burst of white so powerful I had to shield my eyes. By the time I chanced a look, it hadn’t disappeared. Instead, it had faded to a brick of solid color a mere bus-length away like an angel illuminating our path. An end. Or maybe...an **_exit_**.

“Look!” I cried, as if it hadn’t irreversibly captured every one of my classmates’ attention. “That’s gotta be our way out! Let’s go!”

I broke into a sprint, tearing across the floor as it came alive with silver the colour of my own eyes. My feet seemed to hover, suspended mid-air like miniature planes in take off as I soared towards the bleached-out sun before me in some twisted parody of Icarus, letting it take me over, plunging with a hoot of delight into the great unknown. “ _This is it! We’re going to find Byakuya and face whatever comes next as a team!_ ” Filled to the brim with happy thoughts, I closed my eyes. Whatever came to pass, it **_had_ ** to be better than what we’d had before.

At first, only blindness greeted me. As I burst into the otherworldly room, the light reflecting off of the white ceiling, walls, floors... **_everything_** , flooded my vision, smothering my sight so I could not see how, quite suddenly, I’d become a mouse skittering helplessly towards a mousetrap. Even the sound of my own name cried out in horror couldn’t stop me. But a hand could, dropping out of nowhere like the clawed grasp of a crane game ready to pluck me from the cheap side of the bin in a consolation prize, yanking me aside with the kind of fierce protectiveness only a mother hen could possess…

My vision cleared, and I grinned ear-to-ear as Byakuya’s familiar, panic-stricken face came into view. “Byakuya! There you are!”

“Don’t you “Byakuya” me, young lady!” he nearly shrieked, so consumed by worry I wouldn’t have been shocked if his heart gave out and he dropped to the floor right then and there. “Do you have **_any_ ** idea how much danger you were just in?!”

“Uh...no? How could I? I just got here! But I knew you’d be around to keep an eye on me!”

He observed me for a moment longer, the gears behind his glasses turning as if he was trying to decide exactly what kind of punishment my reckless behavior deserved. In the end, he simply sighed. Loosening his vice-like grip on my shoulders, he politely smoothened out the wrinkles he’d left behind and reached into the purse dangling at his hip, pulling out a small carton of orange juice. “Here, drink this. It’ll keep your sugars up,” he said, pressing the (surprisingly chilled) drink into my hands, “ ** _Never_ ** be so careless again, you hear me? Now, on a different note, you’re the only one who followed me here, correct? **_Please_ **tell me it’s only you.”

I didn’t like the tone of his voice. Avoiding his eyes, I punched my straw through the carton and took a long, **_long_ **drink, staving off the inevitable as much as I could. “I’m guessing you want a yes...” I mumbled, as if to the juice, “...but…”

“Hey, Lucky Charms! What’s going on in there?”

The look on Byakuya’s face...it was pure betrayal. “You brought Francis along?”

My throat tightened, embarrassment hot beneath my skin as more and more footsteps joined in with Francis’ and our classmates began to pile into the room, blinking in the sudden light with a mixed sense of wonder and distrust. Who could blame them? The place we’d found ourselves in didn’t rival any of our past discoveries, it exceeded them, the pure white surroundings not out of place in an abstract nightmare clashing so violently against the darkness we’d been submerged in that only the presence of others, and the strange, egg-shaped contraption sitting in the center of the room, saved us from complete sensory deprivation. Height-wise, it bested Hughes by only an inch or two. It was smooth, almost impossibly so, and hollowed-out, with only two foot-shaped imprints stickered on the floor giving any hint as to what its purpose was. In a way, it reminded me of those snapping turtles with the tricky, worm-shaped tongues, luring fish into their parted maws. I knew that as soon as someone entered it, there would be a change.

The question was whether it’d be for better or for worse.

“What’s that?” I asked Byakuya, hoping he’d somehow figured it out in the short amount of time he’d been granted peace and quiet.

He shook his head, raking a hand through his frazzled, sweat-dampened hair. “In all honesty, I haven’t got a clue, and given everything we’ve encountered so far I think it’s safe to say that anything is possible. It could teleport us to the other side of the world, or change us into cats, or give us superpowers!”

“Did somebody say **_superpowers?_ **”

Rookie mistake, Byakuya.

Shoving his way through the crowd, Ko fumbled out into the open space that had unfolded around the device as my classmates came to the silent decision to not dare and tread too close. His eyes shone with a child-like sense of wonder, and even more worryingly, his body was devoid of any signs of self-doubt as he approached the device with slow, but eager footsteps. I could hear Byakuya’s sharp intake of breath beside me. In a flash, he darted out in front of our troublesome classmate and grabbed him by the arm just as the very tip of his shoe nudged the device, reeling him back as he retorted with an angry shout of alarm.

“Hey!”

His cry fell on deaf ears. “What do you think you’re doing?” Byakuya snapped, his voice thick with worry. “We have no idea what that thing is capable of! I don’t care if no progress is made, I can not allow anyone to put themselves in harm's way!”

“ _Progress?_ ” The word stuck out in my mind. “ _He’s right! Monokuma must have led us here for a reason...whatever that thing does, it’s got to be important. Who knows, it might just be our ticket out of here!_ ”

I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to disappoint, either, but what choice did I have? There’s a certain sense of duty that comes with being lucky, you might not be able to crush the world between your teeth like an oyster shell, sure, it’s more like turning cheap tricks at the casino and racking in wins every time. If you look around, see others sinking into debt, and do nothing, you’re just as culpable as the one behind the counter, sucking up life with a slimeball grin. That’s what I liked to tell myself, anyways. Especially as I slunk past Byakuya’s turned back and into the nameless device, hidden until Ko spotted me and blurted out, tactful as always, “Then why does **_Sylvia_ **get to do it?!”

“Sylvia?” Byakuya echoed, and I could picture the confusion etched into his features before realization dawned, and he spun on his heels just in time to see a thin, transparent seath slide over the entrance to the machine before the idea to tug me back to safety could zap to life in his brain. 

“I’m sorry, Byakuya, really, I am. But I’ll be ok! I promise!” I smiled, wishing I could be just a bit more convincing. Then a second door closed, but not before the fleeting image of Byakuya’s terror burned itself into my mind like a brand.

And then I was alone. My breath began to waver, heavy from nerves, and I leaned towards the wall in search of support, only to feel my back press against a weak, jelly-like texture and shudder with revulsion. I hadn’t expected it to be so... **_squishy_**. And neither did my classmates, apparently. I recoiled further as the far wall began to buckle and bounce under the force of a dozen furious blows until eventually, and all at once, they subsided, and an eerie hush of stillness settled over me. 

“Guys!” I yelled, my voice hoarse, “I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!”

As if operating on voice-command, a cold blue light bathed the device as a woman’s voice, flat as stale soda pop, spoke to me. “Explorer or Observer?” she inquired. 

“Huh?” was all I could say. My mind had gone blank in the presence of words I only vaguely, so, **_so_ ** vaguely recalled...oh! Hadn’t the Monopad said something like that? Somehow, I doubted the robot-lady would show enough patience to let me go digging around for information. So I took a chance. “Um...Explorer?”

The light receded. In its wake, a muted gurgling could be heard emanating from the roof of the device, and I wasn’t given more than a moment to gather myself before the ceiling split in two and gave way for a gush of neon-blue liquid to thunder inside like a waterfall, so impatient that by the time I registered what was happening, I’d already been submerged up to my ankles. A scream escaped me, fresh waves of terror chilling me more than the near-freezing substance that lapped at my skin, eliciting a horrible, burning sensation like an electric shock. Panic sent me spiralling, tripping up over my own two feet so I crashed to the ground and the oncoming rush pounded against my exposed back. It seeped into my skin, spiking my veins with pure agony until I thought for sure they would rupture.

“Help!” I tried to scream. It came out as a groan, pitifully weak, fading fast as my energy was sucked away.

The tremors returned with a renewed vengeance as my classmates fought to help me break free, and I knew I couldn’t be deadweight. Even if it felt as though my entire body had become paper-mache, waterlogged and soggy, dissolving with every feeble attempt to move, I gathered every molecule of strength I had left and staggered to my feet, raised my arms, and pushed against the flaps in the ceiling in a fruitless attempt to seal them shut and save myself. They wouldn’t budge. My eyes fluttered shut as the liquid sucked at my hips...stomach...collarbone…“ _I’m going to die! I’m going to die and it’ll all be for nothing!_ ” I couldn’t even bring myself to care. My knees gave out, consciousness dwindling away to nothing as I sunk into the foam, succumbing to the oh-so-familiar darkness enveloping me like an old friend...

_Breath held._

_Lungs aching, screaming for air._

_My mouth fell open, a primal instinct I could not fight._

_I took in liquid…_

_…_

“ _...Huh?_ ”

I opened my eyes. I breathed in. I breathed out. My lungs were full and satisfied and my head shook off the last remnants of fuzz eating away at the edges. Blinking, I looked down at my hands as they opened and closed on-command, wiggling my fingers with the wonder of a newborn baby. I was alive? No, not just alive. **_Exuberant_**. More power and energy surged through my body than I ever thought it could possibly contain, even as slits opened up in the floor, draining away liquid, and the back wall opened as easily as a screen door in summertime you let fly on its hinges without thought of jackets, scarves, even shoes, bird-like and free under the loving embrace of the sun. I walked out. No muss, no fuss, I simply left, the consequences of my actions abandoned in the past, if you could call them consequences at all. 

“ _Did I just die?_ ” I wondered with a startling, quite frankly worrisome lack of concern, “ _Sylvia is gone...there is only Zombia now._ ”

The racket of heaving breaths and mournful, body-wracking sobs caught my attention, and I peered around the side of the pod to see Byakuya slumped criss-cross applesauce on the floor, clutching at a paper bag that nearly popped with every breath as he struggled to get his own two lungs under control. Loriel stood over him, the only calm face in a crowd of pure shock. Whether or not her lack of surprise came from my supposed death or Byakuya’s meltdown was beyond me. The ladder option hurt significantly less, though.

“It’s all my fault!” Byakuya sobbed into the bag with such force it completely blew the bottom out. “I should have been _luh_ \- _luh_ -looking out for her more! She’s the **_Lucky Student!_ ** She’s like a kitten dropped in a lion’s pen, I dropped a **_kitten_ ** into a **_lion’s_ **pen, Loriel! They take almost two weeks just to open their eyes!”

Wow.

“Hey! I’m right here, you know!” I yelled at him without thinking, reeling back in alarm as fourteen heads ripped around to gawk at me in near-perfect sync. Eerie. Couple that with the thin pane of glass that had manifested between us, and, to Byakuya’s credit, I sure did feel a whole lot like a kitten in a lion’s pen.

“ ** _Sylvia!_ ** ” Came the chorus of my name shouted by a cocktail of voices as my classmates rushed up to greet me, pressing against the glass with matching masks of disbelief. I appreciated their relief, really, I did, but it overwhelmed me. There were too many faces. Too many voices. To many questions all posed to pounce, chewing at my brain until I stumbled back, clutching at my head as the soft “ _beep_ ” of a monitor switching on sounded behind me.

“Maladaptor?” Ruth sneered, her voice laced with bewilderment. 

“Make the world adapt to you…” Byakuya seemed to continue for her, his voice still shaky. Their eyes were both locked onto something hidden above my head, and, with great caution, I turned to see what had brought about such a strange reaction...only to find a screen ignited with my own image.

**Sylvia Hart**   
**Class: Maladaptor; make the world adapt to you.**   
**Able to manipulate the environment to a small degree, the Maladaptor is not a front-line class, but rather, excels as a singular unit surviving through a series of what appear to be lucky breaks. They may be able to change the direction of the wind, adjust river currents, or even heal minor wounds. On occasion, they might become powerful enough to move small objects through the power of thought alone. Though this class often seems useless against a mighty foe, one stroke of good luck could be the difference between life and death.**

“That’s...new.”

Well duh, Sylvia! But what else was there to say? Especially as yet another sensation touched my skin, cushiony down and much-too-ticklish fluff where there had once been only the familiar warmth of my hoodie. Whatever I wore into the pod hadn’t made it out, and what I was left with wouldn’t look out-of-place in a poster display of a fantasy-born heroine.

First, I saw the boots, tawny-coloured and ringed with fur. Then I saw the leggings, grey as wisps of snow-light clouds and freckled with snowflakes disappearing into a baby blue poncho swaddled around my shoulders, warm, but devoid of comfort, and I leapt back like a startled panther as if I could somehow escape them. Even my clover pin had been stolen away! Instead, I whipped my head side to side and shook off a white-and-brown speckled feather woven into my hair. I didn’t look like Sylvia anymore. I didn’t feel like her, either, but who would I be, if not myself?

Something new as the whole wide world encompassing us.

“Well, well, well! That’s not half bad!” Monokuma’s familiar trill sounded behind me, and I all, but somersaulted away at the sight of it bouncing from foot to foot, regarding me with a sense of pride so out of place on its rotten body. “Your class looks **_great_ ** on you! I mean, of **_course_ ** it does, I designed it myself after all! But as lovely as it looks...I’d prefer if you didn’t start calling me a fashionista. Bleugh, I might puke just **_thinking_ **of it!”

I narrowed my eyes, as if that could somehow block out its absurd ramblings. Only one word mattered, anyways. “Class?”

“Yup yup! Why else do you think I brought you here? Better yet, why do you think I was so super insistent on proving to you we’re in a simulation? Why didn’t I leave you to stew, not caring if you believed me or not? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not trying to win any popularity contests here!”

It paused, waiting for someone to fill in the empty space. But neither I nor Byakuya gave any sign of speaking. No one did. For once we were ready to shut up and listen, tired of spewing threats that would get us nowhere, of pushing so, so hard, giving everything we had just for Monokuma to swipe one paw through the air and send everything crashing down around us. And it **_unnerved_ **the creature. It wasn’t used to having to pull reactions out of us by our tongues. 

“Alright then, be like that! Just wait until you lay your squishy little eyes on **_this!_ ** ” With a thin caterwaul it gave a click of its heels and let a new screen pop awake on the wall before us, offering a birds-eye-view of the world we’d so easily come to be a part of. There, mountains, deserts, and jungles were laid bare for all to see, and whatever came next...well as far as I was aware, there might not even have **_been_ ** a “next”. “Here we have our “worlds”, or “zones” if you’d prefer, all separated into vastly different climates meticulously designed to offer your sweet, budding minds an enriching array of challenges. Your objective? To best everything thrown your way, be it a foe, a natural disaster, or even yourselves, and win. **_That’s_ **how you earn your freedom.

“Once you step into the pod, you’ll be assigned your “class”. Each one has been custom-designed to fit your strengths and weaknesses, and will be unique to each and every one of you. Isn’t that fun? Of course, that means if one of you dies, you’ll lose an irreplaceable part of your team...but such is the very nature of loss! Anywho! As you so surely remember from yesterday, there are two classifications you can operate under when you leave Hope’s Peak. To break them down to their basics, once you’ve reached a checkpoint, the previous “level” will be deemed clear for recreational use, which is where the Observer comes in. With that classification you’ll be able to frolic about to your heart’s content in complete safety... ** _buuuuut_ **, since you haven’t cleared anything, your only option is Explorer.

“This is where it gets interesting! As an Explorer, you’ll slice, dice, skid, and scamper your way through levels so long as your health is intact, so if you’re smart about when you choose to fight and stave off “status conditions” such as exhaustion, starvation, and sickness, you can run as far as your little heart desires! Ah, but I’ve been yakking on too long, it’s been like three paragraphs! And you know what they say, experience is the best teacher! So go on, pop into that pod! Don’t be shy, if Sylvia can do it, anyone can!”

“ _So this is going to be a recurring thing, huh?_ ” I thought bitterly, but only because bitterness was a strong enough emotion to cling to in the midst of so much uncertainty, a single buoy happily bobbing about in the center of a hurricane. Closing my eyes and bracing my ears, I awaited the inevitable racket of feet striking the floor over and over again as the bubble of silence burst and my classmates lunged forwards, grasping for our new gateway to freedom. But nothing came. 

“...Do we believe it?” Francine’s voice was soft, even against the silence. 

“What reason does it have to lie?” Loriel replied, her tone even. She didn’t lean towards the pod, but she didn’t veer away, either, oddly un-opinionated for an Ultimate Critic. “If all it wanted was to kill us, then we would be dead by now. It’s as simple as that. No, what it really wants…” her eyes flashed liquid copper, stirred up with a keen interest, “...is **_entertainment_**.”

Lucy winced, catching a quick glimpse of the security cameras hooked up to the ceiling. I watched her shrink back from them, as if humiliated. “But that’s even **_worse!_ ** ” Her voice was shrill. “When you say it like that, we’re no better than court jesters! Honk our clown noses long enough and maybe the big bad guy will take pity! I’d **_literally_ **rather die.”

“Then die.”

“Wha-hey! Don’t tell me what to do! Just watch, I’ll outlive you all!”

“People!” Byakuya snapped, exasperation adding a new rawness to his tone. “Loriel is right. Monokuma wants more from us than we’d ever imagined, and even now, we still can’t know for sure what exactly that is. But, as untrustworthy as it is, right now I choose to believe it.” His eyes sought out the far wall behind me, split in two by a thin grey line that curved slightly inwards, as if it was a parting point ready to expand on Monokuma’s command, letting us run free into the world. 

“This…”

I heard a soft ticking.

“...must be…”

It swelled with his words, with my classmate’s widened eyes glimmering with hope.

“...our way…”

I recognized the sound.

“... **_out_**.”

A ticking time bomb.

The room exploded in tandem with his words, his cry of, “Wait!” drowned out by the clamoring of students surging forwards to crash against the pod in a mad scramble to shove their way inside. Only by jamming himself in-between the crowd, plastering his body over the pod’s entrance like a makeshift barricade, could he keep everyone out, his chest fluttering like a frightened, cornered animal as if he thought he might be trampled by the stampede. 

“ ** _Wait_ ** ,” he demanded, letting no sign of weakness seep into his words, “I believe this is our way out, yes, but that does **_not_ **mean we throw all caution to the wind and blunder outside into what’s very likely the most dangerous challenge of our lives! We need to prepare. Charging off now is nothing more than a suicide mission!”

It was like a gavel to a soundblock. What he said made sense, moreso than anything else we’d heard that day, forcing my classmates to stand, frozen in their tracks, blinking slowly as if every flicker of the eyelids was a thought flitting through their minds. Gradually, the tension subsided, fizzling out without a spark. What was the point in fighting to survive against odds we couldn’t even imagine when we could retreat, regroup, and buff up our defenses so we would live another day? A couple hours of delay wouldn’t kill us.

...The sentiment wasn’t exactly universal.

“Seriously? **_That’s_ ** your brilliant strategy, put off until tomorrow so we can fuck around and do **_nothing_ ** today?!”

Ruth’s snarl cut through the crowd, people parting (some unsettled, some much, **_much_ **too enthralled by the unfolding drama) so that familiar storm of fire-red hair could stalk towards Byakuya, who shrunk back, his distress growing more and more apparent as Ruth stuck her face so close to his she could’ve nipped at his nose with a piranha-like gnash of the teeth. No one moved to stop her. Even Loriel stood back, watching with a faint sense of amusement. Suddenly, being trapped behind a seemingly magical pane of glass didn’t seem all that bad.

“I...I hear your concerns,” Byakuya stuttered out, “But would you really have us march into the freezing cold without so much as an hour’s worth of forethought? What about food? What about survival gear and medical supplies? We don’t even have a pair of mittens!”

“I don’t give a shit about your mittens, pretty boy! It’s a **_game_**. You’re **_supposed_ **to start out with nothing.”

“Video games aren’t **_real_** , Ruth.”

“They are now.”

Byakuya paused. If I were Ruth, I might’ve fooled myself into believing I’d broken through, taken his mind in my hands and reshaped it in my image. Instead, he shut his eyes, shook his head, and pressed his lips in a grim line. “Maybe so. But there’s a difference between us and A.Is.”

“Oh yeah?” Ruth’s scowl refused to budge. “And what’s that?”

“We don’t have three extra lives.”

And just like that, the fight was over.

That isn’t to say Ruth gave in. No, she stomped and stormed and put up a fuss, hurling arguments at Byakuya long after he turned his back to her and began ushering our classmates into the near-nonexistant-hallway. “But wait!” you cry, “What about you?” It’s a funny thing, really, I was given a push by two tiny paws not into, but **_through_ ** the barrier separating the others and I, all evidence of my little misadventure sucked away so I was a stranger in one second and Sylvia in the next. I didn’t bother looking back. Monokuma’s, or maybe Ruth’s, eyes burned holes in my spine as I rushed to join my classmates, wedging myself in the comfortable space between Francis and Sheela.

“You alright?” Francis asked. I felt his hand press against the small of my back, then stiffen, then fall away, stuffed into his pocket as if he hadn’t meant to be quite so forward.

I nodded. “Right as rain!”

It was only a partial lie. My body ached, but what else was new? My world had been torn down to a mass of broken glass so sharp I couldn’t touch the tip of my pinkie finger to its edge without splitting my chest down the middle, but since when was that news? Better to just ignore it, pretend not to shake as I plunged into the hallway like one might dive into freezing water. I shuddered at the very thought of having it close over my head…

No. No no no. I wasn’t going to let it take me over.

“ _But what about the phone?_ ”

No.

“ _Your body?_ ”

No.

“ _The_ **_world?_ **”

 **_No_**. 

It was pure poison in my headspace. 

“You sure spooked us,” Sheela teased, oblivious to what I’d already decided to bury as she playfully bumped shoulders with me. “Maybe give us a heads-up next time. I don’t think Francis’ poor hummingbird heart can take another hit like that.”

Francis reared back, startled. “Hey!” he snapped, coloured with embarrassment, “ ** _Excuuuuuuuuse_ ** me for having a perfectly normal reaction to watching someone walk into the biggest sci-fi/horror red flag I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she came out with a bionic limb…” He trailed off, casting my arm a look of deep unsettlement, “...You...you didn’t, right?”

I shook my head, voice wavering with laughter as I said, “Nope! As far as I’m aware, this is 100%, bonafide fleshiness!”

“Gross,” Sheela giggled. Her grin turned mischievous as she shot us a sideways glance, a twinkle in her eye. “You know...if we’re in a simulation, aren’t **_all_ **of our limbs technically bionic?”

Francis gasped with mock-shock. “Whoa, Sheela, that...does jack shit to help us right now.”

“Aw, come on!” Hughes chipped in, his voice bright and booming and his smile wide as he and Francine came up beside us. “It’s kind of a cool thought, isn’t it? We’re like...skin robots!”

Francine regarded him with a look halfway between exhaustion and outright disgust. “You’re all terrible people.”

We laughed. Oh, how we laughed, knowing full well each one of us was lying. But there’s a certain compadre among liars, especially when every word out of our mouths only fed into a delusion we were all too happy to believe in whole-heartedly, or at least pretend we did. The clock was ticking. Soon we’d have no choice, but to sit down, shut up, and face the music, but until then, well, what was the harm in pretending we were your normal, everyday highschool kids teasing one another so mercilessly because we hadn’t yet learned how cruel we can be to the ones we love? It was good to play into a sense of naivety, if only for a little while.

I wasn’t willing to say “worse”, it’s such a saddening word.

But things were going to change, and something told me all the luck in the world couldn’t stop it.

…

…

…

We had a “family” dinner that night. Byakuya said it was good for morale. I can’t recall specifics, the in-between moments have all, but turned to fuzz, but I know it was a happy time, full of good food and laughter that would carry us through the oncoming night. Even Ruth joined in, jeering from time to time, stealing bread rolls off of Ko’s plate to drop them onto Lucy’s so the two bickered on and on like kids clashing over silly little nothings just to give themselves something to do. When we parted, we all said goodnight. Even Francis did, sneaking me an extra manjū bun as we parted with a secretive wink, popping his own into his mouth just as Byakuya passed us by and we had to scramble away with our heads ducked, grinning like fools.

It was a good night…

…

…

…

Until I woke up to a knife at my throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to life picking back up, this chapter's come a few days late and updates might start to stray off-schedule. I still hope to update once per week, but it may come a little...spastically. That being said, in a week's time there will be a 1 week hiatus while I'm on vacation! If I'm lucky it'll give me some time to work on replenishing my queue :') but oh well! Until next time!
> 
> -TheHartProject


	7. Under New Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia experiences a surprise betrayal, one that no one could have ever seen coming...well, maybe a few people. Maybe a lot of people. Maybe everyone, but it's the thought that counts, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter features a canon character! Wanna take a guess on who it is? I'll give you a hint, it begins with a "K"...

**Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? That every event within our world, accidental or otherwise, no matter how pointless or inconsequential it may seem at first glance, has some kind of hidden meaning, even if we cannot always discern what it is? Do you believe that every stormy day has a hidden agenda? Every curse a misplaced blessing? That the sleeves of the universe are stuffed full of tricks waiting to be laid down when the time is right? Do you believe the world is out to get you? Do you believe the world is out to save you? Better question, do you** **_honestly_ ** **believe that the very earth itself revolves around you and you alone? Huh?** **_Huh?_ ** **Is that what you believe, my dear protagonist?**

**Well, you’d be wrong!**

**Because everything revolves around** **_me_** **, of course!**

  
  


Have I ever mentioned how I became the Ultimate Lucky Student?

I won a lottery. No, not **_that_ ** lottery, but many, many others, ones some might say have much higher stakes than some over-hyped draw for a spot in a school at the height of dysfunction, perhaps, but personal bias isn’t important right now. No, managing to snatch a one-way ticket like that would be **_way_ **too convenient, a word that’s never been my closest or most reliable friend. This was something different. Something new and unheard of. And yet, at the same time it was honest-to-goodness nothing more remarkable than an average Tuesday morning for a kid like me.

I was walking down the street, just like anybody else.  
I bought a can of melon soda, just like anybody else.  
On my way to the gas station, ready to cash in my third winning lottery ticket of the week.

...So that wasn’t exactly commonplace.

My memories of that day are oddly sharp and in-focus, clear as river water on a sunny summer day. It was warm, but not humid, jeans-and-a-t-shirt weather without a single cloud gracing the robin’s egg sky. The air smelled of hotdogs and car back-fire. Someone was following me, only a couple yards back, a man with poorly groomed facial hair and a snow-white fedora who was fast becoming the most familiar stranger I’d ever not-met. I clutched my ticket, running a thumb over its creased edges just to cement its existence, knowing and deeply despising how my life hinged on a slip of paper decorated in numbers pulled out of thin air. I’d only ever won locally, a couple thousand yen here and there, enough to keep me afloat for a time, but never forever. But **_that_ ** time, oh, that time I had it. The big one. The crowning jewel. The **_end_**. 

I’d always known something had to give. Hotel rooms, decent clothes, three warm meals a day, and taxi cab fees kept me on my toes, bouncing from place to place for longer than I cared to remember. If I slowed, I settled. If I settled, I starved. It was as simple as that. But not anymore, and never, ever again.

Then I took a wrong turn between Dawson and Main, and found a man’s silhouette cast over the dead-end before me.

“Well, well, well, so I’ve finally caught up to you,” he spoke, his voice thick as maple syrup and just as sticky, as if one word from him could pool around my feet and leave me rooted to the earth. There were empty cans in the dirt at my feet (would throwing them slow him enough to escape?). Music thumped through the wall of the bar beside me (would someone hear me if I screamed, would they come to my rescue?).

“You’re a tough kid to get a hold of, you know that? No P.O Box, no phone number, your last-known-address abandoned and no one willing to say where you’d gone…” He trailed off, and his airy chuckle told me he’d seen the bunched-up fist I held at the ready. “Relax, I’m no officer. I just want to have a little **_chat_ **with you, that’s all. See, I can’t help, but think there’s something off about a girl who’s snagged over ¥10,000 from ten different lotteries all across the country...and who seems ready to cash in her heftiest check of all.”

Rats. He had me...but who **_was_ ** “he”, and what did he want with me? I still walked the thin line between suspicious and flat-out criminal, finding a comfortable (and most importantly, **_untouchable_** ) spot in the grey-scale divide of right and wrong. Legally? He couldn’t touch me, not without evidence. Physically? Well, I’d like to see him try.

So at last, I spoke. “Sorry, sir...” I said in a voice laced with false sweetness, one hand wrapped around my paper-thin future while the other itched for escape. “...but I don’t do interviews.”

Seven words flipped a switch, two strangers disappearing as cat and mouse took their place and I stuffed the lottery ticket in my mouth, freeing my hands to riffle through my pockets and latch onto a firecracker packed beside its matching lighter, and a quick, long-practiced flick of the wrist was all it took to light and weaponize a stick so easily hurled at the stranger, detonated at his feet in a blinding haze of fire and noise. I took my chance. A swivel of the head revealed an escape route I sorely needed, my heels kicking up dirt as I launched myself towards a cluster of sunken boxes and foot-stooled my way to the ladder shooting up the side of a nearby building. My palms burned, raw from innumerous cuts, scrapes, and bruises as they slapped against the cool metal rungs, but adrenaline soothed the ache like a dose of pure morphine. I had to focus on escape. Nothing else mattered, my body could fall apart later, when my life wasn’t tearing at the seams.

…  
…  
…

“I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you, **_Lucky Charms_**.”

A familiar voice cleaved through the curtain of sleep enveloping me, dripping with malice, and even worse, **_excitement_ **as they dragged me into awareness by the eyelids. It wasn’t like a movie. I wasn’t explosive, bursting upright with electric terror as I gasped for breath, my teeth clashing against the cold, clammy hand that slammed over my mouth and forced me back onto the mattress. No scream was strangled by my own throat. No fingernails tore into skin, eliciting pin-prick droplets of blood. No, I simply opened my eyes, stiff and still as a board as an ink-black shadow rose up beside me and I finally put knife to name. 

“Ruth?” I mumbled between her fingers, “What are you-”

“I **_said_ ** keep your mouth shut!” she hissed between her teeth, lips parted in a snarl that glowed pearl-white against the moonlight. “Jesus, you’re stupid. You don’t just **_ask_ **your kidnapper what they’re doing!”

“So...you’re kidnapping me?”

“Exactly! Well, kind of, it’s more like a hostage situation. I-” She jerked back, shaking her head wildly side-to-side like a dog shedding water. “I don’t have to explain myself to you! You’re coming with me, got it? No complaints, no cute little escape attempts, and not a **_single_** cry for help or I swear to God it’ll be your last.”

I nodded fervently (well, as much as the weapon pressed against my throat would allow). But then I felt it, a familiar sensation brushing against my skin as the strength of her grip made her hands tremble from exertion, sharp, but irregular, and smelling of burnt wood...

“Are you holding me hostage with a broken piece of your bed?” I gasped out a laugh in spite of myself. “I guess that makes sense for an arts-and-crafts-y type like you! But **_why?_** Don’t get me wrong, it’ll get the job done, but why not just grab a knife from the kitchen?”

Ruth frowned, pink-red with a rather peculiar sense of embarrassment. “I couldn’t get into the cupboards,” she grunted, refusing to meet my eyes, “Byakuya’s baby-proofed **_everything_**.”

“And you couldn’t unlock them?”

“Those things are made for motherfucking **_superbabies_** , alright? Gah! Just come **_on_** already and get your ass in gear before I shove this thing down your throat!”

I didn’t think that **_wood_ ** taste all too pleasant. So I listened, meek and obedient, to the girl who had decided to play with my life like a cat batting at a string of yarn worn down to the wire. But with all that said, it would be a lie to say that I **_feared_ ** her. Call it a gut feeling, a striking sense of intuition that soothed my frayed nerves as Ruth yanked me out of bed by the neck of my pjs and thrust me into the pitch-black corridor, leaving me to stumble over my own half-asleep feet. As soon as she posed a threat I could kick, scratch, scream, and bite until she finally decided that enough was enough and pulled the plug, but until then, I’d be happy ( ** _ish_** ) to go along with whatever wild scheme she’d cooked up, lying by herself in the depths of night.

After all, how much damage could one Animator do?

Soon, my eyes saw fit to adjust themselves to the lowlight. Before me was a door, Francis’ door, and at Ruth’s not-so-gentle prodding I gave an aimless rapt and prayed to the gods of good fortune he was anywhere, but nearby. It wasn’t long before I had my answer. The rustle of a blanket. A tired scuff across the floor. The age-old " _eeeeeeeeeeeek"_ of a door swung open invitingly as bloodshot eyes glimpsed out into the darkness, wariness becoming recognition, and recognition becoming what I swore was **_fondness_** as his lips cracked with a grin, taking in my silly, one-piece bunny pjamas. 

“I swear, with you around I’ll only sleep when I’m dead,” Francis rumbled, his voice low and rough, yet oddly close to a chuckle. “So what’s up, bunny? Got something on your mind or…”

The sight of Ruth killed any words he might have spoken, the crook of her arm snapping around my neck as she pressed the tip of her weapon against my cheek, a silent warning. “I’m holding your girlfriend hostage, fucknuts,” she crowed, all cocky and confident with a sneer-lined grin.

Francis blinked at her. “Cool...wait, what?”

I could only watch, the picture of a helpless captive, as his exhaustion drained away just like the blood in his face. Listless eyes darted from me, to Ruth, to the weapon linking us together, bright with alarm and yet hard, holding the same cold finality as a brick wall waiting to be kissed by the hood of a speeding car. Moonlight sliced over him as he stalked from the room, pooling in his eerily still fists and bared teeth. Rage boiled within him and it **_frightened_** me. Even knowing I wasn’t the target, standing next to the blaze was enough to sear my skin all the way down to the bone. 

And then he froze. Pure, cold fire. Reigning himself in, Francis paused, let out a long, frost-filled breath, and relented, merely raising his hands in surrender. “Let’s not do anything hasty,” he began (words always served him better, anyways). “You really think you can manage hiding evidence of **_two_ **murders? Because I’m not going quietly. Lay one finger on her and you’re gonna have one fucked-up corpse on your hands, buddy, I can promise you that.”

“ _You really know how to flatter a girl, Francis_ ,” I thought (in only the most affectionate way, of course). “ _Ditch the part about your corpse, maybe, and you’re a real catch! Ah well, guess I’d better jump in…_ ”

Blinking rapidly, I caught his attention and offered a cheeky wink, mouthing, “ _Don’t worry, I’m ok! Ruth’s just-_ ”

“Listen here, **_buddy_** ,” she hissed, and I felt the bite of needle-sharp wood as she jabbed it against, no **_into_** my cheek until I feared it’d scrape against my teeth. “You’re not the one calling the shots here. Either you do **_exactly_** as I say, **_when_** I say it, or you live with the fact that poor wittle Lucky Charm’s blood is on your hands! So what’s it gonna be, huh? **_Huh?_** ”

I squirmed in her grip, but only furtively, eager to get away from the stabbing pain lacing my cheek and the weapon threatening to give me my first piercing without Ruth or Francis knowing. I couldn’t show weakness. Only humor, shooting my companion a look of laid-back tease, lips quirked in a half-smile and one eyebrow raised as if to say, “ _Get a load of this! How charming! How slapstick! How dishonestly delightful, pretending I’m in danger, pretending I could_ **_die_ ** _when all is well and good and safe, the threat against my life so empty I can’t_ **_possibly_ ** _believe it!”._ “Wow, you **_really_ **aren’t a morning person, are you?”

Francis inhaled sharply. “ _What are you_ ** _doing?!_** ” his eyes begged the question as he mouthed, “ _You’re kind of undermining me here_ , _Vie._ ”

“ _Relax! Ruth’s all talk. And hey, why are_ **_you_ ** _mouthing? She’s right in front of you!_ ”

“ _I’m panicking, alright! I’m a_ **_chef_** _, not a hostage negotiator!_ ”

“ _Rude! I am_ **_not_ ** _a hostage!_ ”

“ _Well you’re a pretty fucking unconventional sleepover buddy!_ ”

“What are you two **_fucking_** talking about!?” Ruth snapped, and I could picture her uncertain eyes boiling like storm clouds as they flickered between Francis and I, waiting for the punchline. The novelty, and her patience, wore off soon enough. “Guh! You two are **_insufferable_**.”

Francis raised an eyebrow. “You think **_we_** wanna put up with **_you_** any more than **_you_** wanna put up with **_us?_** ”

“We **_do_ ** suck pretty bad,” I pitched in, “And if we add you to the mix? Yikes! If you ask **_me_** , and you should, I’m an expert at this stuff, this is a gamble you don’t wanna take.”

“That’s coming from the **_Lucky Student._ **Pretty sure that can be taken as an omen.”

“Yeah! Plagues be on ‘yer lands if ‘ye dare turn deaf ears on the words of your prophet!”

I attempted a laugh, but our time had run out. Like a buzzer to a race, made known only by the breaking of the finish line, Ruth’s weapon choked the laughter from my throat so both Francis and I became suddenly, and all at once, very, very quiet. “Shut **_up_** already!” her words were spat close to my ear. “Playtime’s over. You,” she motioned to Francis, “Go get the others, everyone except that damn pretty boy. It’s time we all had a **_chat_** about what we’re going to do with what we learned yesterday.”

At the risk of my safety, Francis did something he’d never done before. He took orders without complaint or some silly, careless remark, trudging away from Ruth with heavy feet and one final, cutting glare, not hesitating once as he knocked at the door beside him and brought a small, but noticeable loosening to the pressure on my neck. Sheela appeared at the other side, her eyes bleary in the moonlight. Oh, but did she ever wake up when Francis gestured to me, no words exchanged, but the meaning crystal clear and inescapable. 

“Blue? What are you-” she began, fury rising in her voice until Francis hissed to her under his breath, urgent, edging on desperate. I hated the look she threw my way. Not just apologetic, but so plainly miserable my heart ached with guilt in a way I knew only made me look more vulnerable, more pitiable, so the cycle began anew, and I couldn’t do a thing to fix it. 

Almost at once, she and Francis split off, rousing each and (almost) every one of our classmates with matching rapts, but different words. Sheela took care to be gentle, but stern, quieting Ko when he burst into the hallway like a man on fire, shouting and squabbling for me to be released until Ruth let her weapon ghost across my neck and he went stiff, soothed only by Sheela’s hand against his shoulder. Francis wasn’t as merciful. When Francine froze, her hands clasped over her mouth so they smothered a gasp she couldn’t swallow, he all, but dragged her from the doorway with harsh words gritted out between jaws that tensed with every movement I made caught by the corner of his eye. And yet, she wasn’t the worst of them. Vincent came close to hitting the floor. Emmet shuddered violently in his pinstripe pajamas. Hughes, oh poor, poor Hughes, more than once I watched someone slide up to him, eyes alight with hope as they whispered what I could only assume was the bare skeleton of a plan designed to set me free and save the day. Every time, he refused, and every time he became smaller, sunken in on himself and unable to so much as glance my way. 

“ _It’s not your fault!_ ” I wished I could call out to him, “ _It was me, all of it was me! I wasn’t fast enough! I wasn’t smart enough! I didn’t take it seriously, I still don’t know if I should! Oh, please don’t be sad. I can’t stand to see you this way…_ ”

Nausea chewed at me, worry hot and misshapen in my gut as if it might expand and crush me from the inside-out. What had Ruth said before? That we needed to talk about “what we’d learned”? Had enough time really passed for her to absorb every word spoken, every rule of reality bent and broken and every itty-bitty implication lost in the wreckage? I doubted it. But there we were, plunging into the cool, nighttime air of The Dome as we marched single-file down the fairy tale bridge, Ruth and I taking up the rear so the whispers exchanged before us floated clean and clear to my ears. 

“ _What kind of a powerplay_ **_is_ ** _this!? It’s not even a fair fight! I bet I wouldn’t break a sweat knocking Ruth’s lights off if she wasn’t playing dirty!_ ”

“ _It’s lights_ **_out_** _, bud. You’d knock her lights_ **_out_** _._ ”

“ _Who cares about that, Sheela?! Our_ **_lives_ ** _are at stake! We need to act fast before she gets us in front of a camera, I’d bet you anything she’s about to make a statement so revolutionary even the big men upstairs can’t ignore her! If she gets that far, we_ **_seriously_ ** _need to consider letting her, y'know..._ **_do her thing_** _. I mean, it’s a piece of broken wood! How much damage can it do?_ ”

I wished I hadn’t heard that part.

But Ruth didn’t lead us to a camera. In fact, she **_avoided_** them, ordering us to stalk around their prying eyes, pressed up against the glass so no more than stray scraps of our clothing were visible. Hadn’t the ones in the Dormitory already spotted us? What was the point of avoiding one tripwire when the others had you snagged by the ankle? They all traced back to the same source, taking note of our every movement from the moment Ruth cracked open her bedroom door...

Unless she had covered them.  
Unless this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment plight.  
Unless Ruth had thought this through.  
And the ending was further from our grasp than I ever could have anticipated.

“Where are we going?” I dared to ask, not expecting an answer.

But she surprised me. “Change Rooms. They don’t have cameras.”

That did not make me feel better.

The hallway lights were alive and buzzing as we entered the school building, a hive of near-silent activity greeting us as we passed them by in a tight-knit mob. You couldn’t pry us apart with a crowbar. Fear had clumped us together, morphing 15 students into a single, 30-footed mass stomping its way towards the Change Rooms as they shone, pink-and-blue gloss, as if some invisible being had decided we couldn’t be trusted to know where to put our own two feet and highlighted our next steps out for us in a bizarre, almost heavenly glow. But no one seemed all too eager to approach them. Whether or not the Mastermind would save us from a game-breaking kill was up for grabs, but escape from the ever-watching eyes above us meant a change in the status-quo, one that felt too much like lining dominoes up in a row for comfort. 

“Well? What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?” Ruth snarled, jabbing her chin towards the Change Rooms. “Get on with it! We don’t have all night!”

But no one budged. To my surprise, Emmet, of all people, was the first to step forward, grimacing as if his teeth were already sore from the bullet he was about to bite. The Men’s Change Room accepted him without hesitation, spurring others to follow in his footsteps until the hallway drained of company, and I could only watch as every ally I had dwindled towards zero. Except Francis. He hovered at the edge, eyes switching wildly between our classmates and I with a sense of unease, knowing how helpless he was to stave off the inevitable. And eventually, he too relented.

“If you do anything-”

“Yeah, yeah, just get in the Change Room already, Grease.”

Francis gave a start, running a hand through his hair, grumbling, “Wow, what a weird way to kick me while I’m down.” He shook his head, eyes softening as they fell to me. “Well...see you on the other side. If worst comes to worst, give me a shout. How thick can these walls be?”

I mustered a smile. “What, are you gonna come crashing into the room like the Kool-Aid man?”

He winked. “ ** _Oh yeah_**.”

We parted uncertainly, slipping into the respective Change Rooms that smothered each other from sight. In an instant a thick, perfumey aroma clogged up my senses, the smell of sweat blanketed beneath it so they hit me in waves that nearly washed me off my feet. You could’ve sworn the room had been occupied not long before we arrived. As if we’d had company and never once noticed. 

Blind and gagging, I doubled over as Ruth released me with a rough shove, darting out of the path of a retribution I couldn’t hope to offer. Watering eyes blurred my vision as I raised my head to a cluster of faces circling me like vultures, most curious, others...a little less than pleased. Ume rolled her eyes, annoyed. Francine looked surprised by how easily I’d gotten off the hook. Loriel simply watched. She might have been relieved. She might have been amused. Nothing (at least, nothing readable) flickered through her eyes as Ruth came up beside her, grinning triumphantly as if she’d taken first place in a contest.

“See? Told you I could handle it,” she boasted.

Loriel shrugged one shoulder. “You’re not out of the woods yet. In fact, you’re not even in the thicket.”

“Hmph! Forget it, I don’t need your seal of approval.” With a mighty huff, she leaned into, or more so crashed against, the far wall beside a vibrant row of lockers that were as orange as, well, oranges. I took cruel satisfaction in seeing her knocked down a peg, not that it much improved my mood, or eased the sore streak of pain laced across my throat that pulsated gently, a silent whine I couldn't ignore.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked, rubbing my hand over skin that was surely red and blistering. Thinking back, it might have been my subconscious way of saying, “ _Look here! I’ve paid my dues. I’ve got what I deserve. Please, don’t be angry_ ”. “I-I didn’t mean to cause trouble…”

Ruth waved me off, “Can it, Lucky Strike. This isn’t about you.”

“It’s not all about **_you_** , either.”

“Seriously, Loriel? What side are you **_on!?_** ”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Francine spoke up, her voice keen with interest. “You seemed rather fond of Byakuya. I didn’t peg you as someone so quick to betray sides.”

If Loriel felt any shame for her actions, she didn’t show it. “What am I, a lapdog? He’s an intelligent, thorough-thinking man and a natural-born leader, and when he starts acting like one again maybe I’ll take his ideas under consideration. But for now, he’s an idiot, and I have better things to do than play secretary for an idiot.” Humor worked its way into her tone as she added, “All he needs is a little...hmm, **_push_**.”

Her words were more prophetic than I knew.

“ ** _BAM!_** ”

As if on-cue, a jarring spike of commotion caught my attention as a puff of insulation dust and plaster chips exploded from the wall beside me, and I whipped my head around to see a familiar fist had punched clean through to our side, knuckles bruised and smeared with blood. It crumpled, shook itself out, and flashed an apologetic thumbs-up, oddly sheepish for a hand, or for that matter any body part lacking a distinctive face. Its meek hand-demeanor couldn’t stop the hammering in my chest, though, not until it vanished, replaced by a face that sent me reeling in a different way. 

“ ** _Oh yeah_** ,” Francis bellowed, deep and guttural and punctured by hints of laughter, grinning as he took in the shock-stricken faces all around him. 

I staggered back, stunned, but not into silence. “Oh my goodness!” I gasped, “Francis? Did you just-how on earth did you do that!?”

Broken chunks of the wall scraped his cheeks as he turned to me, and I could see a subtle, but noticeable shift as he sagged with relief, his chin coming to rest against the bottom of the newly bashed-in hole. “Who, me? God no, this was Hughes’ work...don’t ask me why.”

“I can explain if you let me through!” Hughes’ voice, wrought with exasperation, seeped through the walls, jostling and eventually pulling Francis away so he vanished with a grunt and a final side-eyed glance in my direction. A more rounded face popped into the space he’d left behind, squished by the cramped quarters. “Ssshorry,” Hughes said, a miracle for how little space he had to move his mouth, “I hope I didn’t ssshtartle you.”

“ ** _Startle_** us?” Lucy shrieked, one hand resting on a treadmill while the other clutched at her chest until her veins pushed out against her skin. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! I’d bet any lawyer worth their salt could make a case against you for reckless endangerment of human life you...you jerk-in-the-box!”

Crestfallen, he pushed open his mouth, ready to spill more apologies until Ruth stalked up to him and shoved his face back through the gap, ignoring his startled yelp or simply not caring as the plaster tore at his cheeks. “Back off, Hughes. You’re not the only one who needs to hear this.”

A furious outcry of protest rocked both rooms at the sight of Ruth’s cruelty. It hardly phased her. She **_must_** have expected it, **_basked_** in it, even, and though I was far from eager to crawl into her headspace, I had the strongest notion that perhaps she felt this was her only option, that when relying on dumb luck and careful forethought wasn’t pushing progress, being bold and brash and loud and **_angry_** was all we had. How odd that in hitching my cart to her train of thought, I almost **_admired_** her.

Almost being quite the powerful key word here.

“We’re listening,” the words fell from my mouth before I'd even once thought them through. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me at first, but as luck would have it even my timid words could worm their way through the chaos, tickling her ear until she had no choice, but to give me her attention. I swallowed before continuing. “Everyone’s waiting to hear what you have to say, Ruth. Are you going to keep us waiting?”

She fixed me with a stare, an empty stare, maybe surprised or maybe indignant as the Lucky Student dared to open her mouth. In the end, she recognized an open door when she saw one and took her chance before anyone else could beat her to the punch.

“Don’t rush me, Lucky Strike,” she sneered. “And besides, haven’t you figured it out yet? All of this, it’s all because of that damned pretty boy.”

The room was silent.

“I beg your pardon?” one voice, Vincent’s voice, ventured, more curious than angry, though the latter was certainly there. “That is no way to talk about one of our own! And what has Byakuya ever done to provoke you to this point? I dare say all you want is an excuse to cause trouble, you scoundrel!”

Ruth’s head swung towards them like a wrecking ball. “One of our own?” she echoed, and the dark undertone of her words frightened me. “One of our own? What makes you think he’s one of us? What makes you think he **_considers_ **himself one of us?”

“But he’s our leader!” Ko yelled from the other room with such conviction I could’ve sworn he stood right at my side. “He does all the boring organization stuff leaders do so the rest of us are free to be...y'know, **_free!_ ** If he’s not one of us, then what **_is_ **he?”

His heartfelt words sent Ruth’s eyes ablaze, pure, blue fire behind glasses I was prepared to watch melt from the heat. “A **_traitor_** , that’s what!” she spat as if the words were acid on her tongue. “Don’t you realize who he is? He’s not some harmless celebrity or a rich snob coasting on his parent’s money, he’s **_Byakuya Togami_** , the heir of the Togami Empire! Do you have **_any_ ** idea how many pies his family’s got their grubby thumbs stuck into, and how many of them were cooked up on the backs of people like us? That bastard’s never done an honest day’s work in his life and now he’s set to inherit the **_world_ **all because of whose dick he shot out of!”

“ _...People like us?_ ”

“Actually,” Loriel cut in with what I was fast coming to recognize as her I’m-about-to-cause-problems voice, “If you looked into the Togami family at all you’d see that artificial insemination is used to-”

“Loriel, I am **_this_ ** close to artificially inseminating **_you_ **into the fucking wall.”

She blinked. “That’s not...alright. Point taken.”

Ruth rubbed her forehead with the base of her palm. “Out of all the people I could’ve been stuck with...Christ,” she sighed, deep and mournful, but when it passed she raised her chin, and, seeing her body set in a sturdy, unmovable pose, heels rooted in the floor so nothing could force her to budge, I wasn’t sure whether to call her resigned or determined, more so than ever before. “Look, you don’t like me and I sure as hell don’t like any of you, but like it or not, we’re stuck here together, and we can either do something about it or sit back and let pretty boy lock us all up in this godforsaken school until we rot.”

Her words struck a chord within me. What on Earth was she talking about, gabbing on with silly sentiments that didn’t make a lick of sense? Since when was she in a position to paint herself like a common man, bending over backwards for those so high up on the ladder she could only grasp at faint wisps of their success? Since when were rich kids and celebrities and heirs with the world in the palms of his hands the **_other?_ **

“ _You’re no different from him_ !” I wanted to scream, “ _Don’t act like you’re innocent! You, Loriel, all of you, you’re all the same! You don’t understand. You never could_.”

“I dunno, Blue,” Sheela spoke up, “I can see where you’re coming from, but sneaking around behind Byakuya’s back with whatever bodgy plot you’ve cooked up...it feels wrong. I think we’re all fine hanging back for a couple more days.”

“But it won’t **_be_ ** a couple more days!” Ruth shrieked back, her patience worn down to the wire. “First it’ll be a day, then a week, then a month! I **_know_ ** his type. All he wants is to feel in control, the only reason he’s so damn hesitant is because he thinks if he waits long enough, it’ll start to feel less like he was forced into action and more like he so **_graciously_ ** chose to do it himself! He’s not **_worried_ **about us. He’s stubborn and prideful and doesn’t give a shit about treating us like pawns!”

“ ** _Whatever_** the case may be...” Loriel jumped in (apparently she **_did_** have a trace of sympathy within her), “...I believe Ruth when she says he’ll be dragging his heels forever if we let him. Don’t think of this as a coup, think of it as a test run. We’ll challenge the first “world”, see how far we get, report back to the school, and go from there. With any luck we’ll be able to convince him we’re capable enough to face this challenge with…” she thought for a moment, “... ** _minimal_** damage.”

Just like that, she’d single-handedly saved Ruth’s argument. Where one had force, the other had tact, and people listened one way or the other. I watched agreement spread gradually through the room until, all at once, I was outnumbered, even by virtue of being a little less than sure. “ _You want an “other”? Just look at me!_ ”

“I...suppose we’ll never know unless we try,” said Francine. “And perhaps it’s better to rip the bandage off while we’re unsure what’s underneath. It’s easier that way.”

“But do we **_all_ **have to go?” Ume chipped in with a groan, “You can’t wake me up at some ungodly hour and expect I’ll be ready to go gallivanting out into snow, slush, and hail! A lady’s got to have time to prepare!”

Ruth scoffed. “You want time to prepare? I’ll give you time to prepare, and while you’re at it take Lucy and Ko with you, see if you can fish up some winter gear from the Laundromat.”

Ume opened her mouth to argue, but even she fell prey to Ruth’s steely glare and felt the good sense to hush up. Seeing this gave our new pseudo-leader a much-needed boost, and she straightened her spine as she turned to eye the rest of us with a mouthful of tasks she listed off with such ease I knew she wasn’t thinking on the fly. How on earth had she planned so much in so little time? Perhaps Ultimate brains were simply wired differently.

“Shuto, Francis, and Emmet, you four grab whatever you can from the kitchen. Lucy, Ko, and Ume will bring you backpacks to stuff ‘em in. Sheela, take Francine with you and do whatever Meteorologists do to come up with a weather report. This is one hell of a detailed simulation, anything’s possible. Hughes, Hibiki, and Loriel, you’re with me. And Vincent…”

For them, Ruth paused, rolling her shoulders so the backpack slung around them toppled to the floor. I hadn’t even noticed her wearing it, let alone the skinny, silver-blue poles sticking out from a gap in the flaps, ones that reflected the harsh Change Room lights like warped mirrors as she yanked them out and thrust them into Vincent’s awaiting hands. They stumbled back, recognizing the items...and then not. They were arrows, of a sort, ones with their arrowhead replaced by that of a plunger in one of the most bizarre inventions I’d ever seen.

“ ** _These_** puppies are designed to knock out the feed of any security cameras you land a direct hit on. I don’t know if we’ve been spotted, as far as I know there could be tiny microphones hidden all over the place, even in here, but the more difficult we make it for Monokuma to figure out what we’re doing the better.”

Vincent crooked their head to the side, confused. “Err...isn’t this a bit far?”

“So? What, are you afraid of hurting the **_poor_ **wittle Mastermind’s feelings?”

Loriel stepped forward, ever so subtly nudging Ruth to the side. “We don’t know how this simulation works,” she reminded them, “There’s a good chance we might make things easier on ourselves by stopping Monokuma from calibrating the “world”, even for a time.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to satisfy. Vincent’s hands closed around the bundle of arrows, a fierce glimmer of determination in their eyes as they nodded to Loriel like a knight accepting a dangerous quest straight from the highest reigning monarch. The pride they glowed with couldn’t be found anywhere else in the crowd. Uncertainty cloaked us in stillness, the silence overwhelming. It was Lucy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for quite some time, who finally decided enough was enough.

“One time.”

Ruth narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Huh?”

“This is the **_one_ ** time I’ll let you get away with bossing me around. And it’s only because **_I_ ** had the exact same idea as you! Maybe a little less **_sudden_** …” She crossed her arms, disappointment clear as day in the way she sharply tore her head to the side, refusing to spare Ruth another word and offering Ume no more than a sparse nod as she marched towards the Change Room exit. “Come on, K.O! If anyone’s gonna be kicking off this uprising, it’s gonna be me!”

“Aw yeah! Watch out Monokuma, K.O’s coming to knock your lights **_out!_** ”

One trailblazer in each room proved enough to uncork all of the hesitation keeping us bottled up and immobile, waiting with bated breath as Vincent nocked their arrow (I supposed they’d slept with their bow on?) and sent one expert shot flying towards the nearest security camera with a " _thwock"_ that reverberated through my eardrums, and as sparks showered down from the busted machine we all spilled out into the hallway with hoots and cheers and thunderous footsteps until I could only blithely wander along with the crowd before they trampled me. But...hey, wait! I hadn’t been given a task, or a partner, or even a voice! Had I hesitated too long? Or maybe I was never destined to have enough time to digest all the words tossed back and forth like a bad game of keep-away. 

“ _Ultimates!_ ” 

Lost and unaware, I came close to crashing into Francis’ turned back as he stood a little ways off from the commotion. “You **_knew_ ** what was going to happen?” I heard him hiss, and shrunk back before realizing I wasn’t the target of his fury. No, that would be Hughes, his head hung low as shame overtook him. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? You could have at **_least_ **warned Lucky Charms she had someone out for her neck!”

“I’m sorry!” Hughes blurted out, his head rearing upright to show miserable, water-logged eyes. “Ruth said she’d do something **_worse_ ** if I told anyone about her plans and I...I panicked. I was **_terrified_ **I’d be the reason Sylvia…” He clammed up once he realized I’d stumbled into his little confession box. His chest swelled, relief surging within him to mingle in a painfully bittersweet manner with the guilt that shadowed him, and though I held no grudges I still came close to leaping away like a startled house cat as he lunged for me with a cry of “Sylvia!”, his hands like twin anvils as they clasped down on my shoulders. “Are you ok? Ruth didn’t hurt you, did she? If she did, I know first-aid! It’s mostly for boxing injuries, but being lugged around by your throat’s gotta be a bit like a throat-punch, right?”

I hesitated, unsure where to begin. “Um...I don’t think so? But I appreciate the concern! I-”

“Hughes!” Ruth’s voice snapped down the hallway, her and her entourage already halfway to The Dome and less than keen on waiting around. “We’re going!”

Hughes bolted upright like a soldier called to attention. How odd. Where did he pick that up? “Right!” he barked...then hesitated. More apologetically, he turned to me and said, “Sorry, I should go. Trouble for Ruth is trouble for **_all_ **of us. But I promise, I’ll make it up to you later!”

With that final sign-off, he jogged up to meet his groupmates. I watched him leave in silence, content to hover in a moment of peace and quiet I knew wouldn’t last and was punctuated by Francis’ soft grunt of disgust. 

“What an asshole.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on the guy. If Ruth tried to pull that stunt with you I’d have been in a panic!”

“But you wouldn’t’ve done **_nothing_**.”

“Well, Hughes isn’t me.”

He didn’t have a rebuttal for that. And he didn’t try to cobble one together out of nothing, either, instead he merely stretched his arms, popped his back, and yawned, a sleepy semblance of a grin (or a grimace, you could never quite tell with him) painting an expression you could almost call tranquil. “So...I let my groupmates take off without me. I might be wrong, but I don’t remember Ruth handing you a job.”

I shrugged, pretending I wasn’t troubled by the exact same thing he seemed eager for. Then a brilliant idea jumped to mind. Who was to say Ruth had to be the end-all of my usefulness? Better question, since when was I taking orders from Ultimates? They could scoff and squabble and roll their eyes all day, I went where I liked and I did what I wanted and I had the luck to back it up, ready and willing to give aid to the one person who needed me most...

Byakuya!

“...What do you think would happen if Byakuya woke up?” I asked my companion.

He thought about it for a moment. “Everything would go to shit.”

“And **_why?_** ”

“You’ve seen how frantic Byakuya gets when things start slipping out of his control. Put a whole coup in front of him and I’d bet good money his “pretty boy” head would explode.”

“Exactly!” I snapped my fingers, giddy with excitement as a brilliant plan simmered in my head, one that would **_guarantee_ ** me a spot on the map for every disaster we faced along the road. I’d show them I was reliable. I’d show them I was clever. I’d show them I was just as wild and angry and reckless and **_ultimate_ ** as any of them ever were! “Without a little...“ **_intervention_ ** ”, this whole plan could fall apart the moment Byakuya shuffles outside for a morning cup of tea! No no no, that won’t do, that won’t do at all! Someone **_has_ **to do something...but what?”

Francis regarded me with undisguised amusement. “You’re selling this **_way_ **too hard. Got something you wanna say, Lucky Charms?”

I grinned. Oh, did I ever. Even thinking of it now, I can still feel the pain in my cheeks and remember how much I loved it, just another reminder of how **_alive_ ** we really were, no matter the reality we’d found ourselves in. “I **_might_**. Lesson #1, Fran-Fran, Sylvia Hart’s **_always_ **got an ace up her sleeve…”

…  
…  
…

Six hours.

I stayed on the run for six hours.

Then one knock on the door of my hotel room brought it all to an end. Deep down, I’d expected nothing less from the man in white, and if I dared to be so generous I could've called it poetic to have everything I’d been running from for so, so long catch up to me right when I had the finish line in sight, dragging me down to a seedy, backwater hotel with mold-chewed carpets and a ceiling littered with dark, greasy stains. Fate herself had spoken, sighing, “ _What did you expect? You cannot cross a bull’s path without risk of being gored. This is what happens to those who run with the weasels and the wild moonlit dogs and all things laden with teeth, you either outrun them, or admit when you’ve been bitten._ ” Funny. I’d always thought she was on my side.

I let the man in white in. What was the use in fighting? And seeing this, he gave a tip of his hat and breezed inside with the ease of an old friend welcomed into a home they knew as well as their own, his shoes sticking like velcro to the cheap carpet flooring as he crossed the room to find a spot propped up in a rickety chair by the corner. He helped himself to a glass of water making ringlets on the table in front of him. Licking his lips, he leaned back, peeling open the moth-bitten curtains beside him for a glimpse of the bleak city view greeting him on the other side of the glass.

“Yeesh, kid. You’d think someone with your natural charm would’ve swindled their way into something a little cozier than **_this_** ,” he remarked, his face pulled back in a loose grimace. “Hey, you got anything stronger than water lying around? I won’t tell on you, promise.”

I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I took my sweet time closing the door behind him, offering just as little as he did in terms of a greeting as I eased myself onto the mattress-less bed with its twisted, sweat-slicked sheets, my fingers knit so tightly together I could feel my own pulse beating wildly through my skin. Suddenly, they were the most interesting things I’d ever seen. Or at least more capturing than him, with his yellowing teeth and milky, white-blue eyes. 

“So that’s what you think I am?” I whispered, “A two-bit conwoman?”

The man in white gave a lackluster roll of his shoulders. “Eh, who am I to say? My only job’s to scout out talent, kid. Doesn’t matter what kind. Doesn’t matter who from. Forming an opinion is a waste of time when you’ll sooner be the council’s problem than any of mine.”

My throat tightened. “The council?”

“Just a formality. So long as you’ve got enough “potential” they’ll wave anything. Marks, expulsions, hell, even criminal records…” A chuckle danced on his words as he went on, “Sounds like you’ve got some nasty skeletons in your closet.”

I couldn’t bear it any longer. Forcing my eyes away from the tremble in my hands, I met his gaze, unwavering (I hoped) before his silent intensity. “I’m sorry, Mister…?”

“Kizakura. Koichi Kizakura.”

“Kizakura. This has been fun and all, but can you **_please_** stop with all the runaround? Just say what you wanna say and be done with it. Whatever it is...I can handle it.”

The man, Kizakura, grinned. “You’re the boss,” he teased with a greasy wink, downing the rest of his glass as if he hadn’t so much as glanced at water in days. When droplets stuck to his pencil-thin mustache, he leisurely wiped the back of his sleeve across his lips as if to draw out a sense of edge-of-your-seat anticipation. But he was the only one hanging onto his every word, his eyes shining with a dim light of excitement, worn down, but still there, as he turned to me with all of his cards laid down before my very eyes, ones no fortune teller in the world could have ever seen written in the stars. 

“Someone’s got their eye on you, Miss Hart, and they have ever since you cashed in your forth winning lottery ticket in a row. As far as we can tell the only forgery going on is with your age, everything else boils down to sheer, dumb luck. Which looks to be an ongoing trend with you, I gotta say. I doubt many other kids could’ve pulled off that little stunt of yours at Milligan’s, I mean, that school’s like a **_fortress_**. And those videos of you floating around online? People tend to notice a kid who walks away from car crashes and collapsed bridges without so much as a scratch on them, picking up those little... ** _happenings_** , let’s say, is part of human nature. How it all adds up...well, that’s where it gets foggy.

“I’m no conspiracy theorist. Personally, I couldn’t care less about pining one title or another to your coat. Luckster, Gambler, Parkour Master, from what I’ve seen, either way you **_technically_** check every one of our boxes, so here I am, offering you your golden ticket.” He leaned forwards. The smell of cigarette smoke pooled in his words as he spoke. “I’ll cut to the chase. Hope’s Peak wants you to enroll as one of their **_Ultimates_**.”

…  
Ultimates?

“...Huh?” was all I could manage.

Kizakura offered a smile, oddly sympathetic. “Must be a lot to take in. Most kids I scout out know what’s coming, but you? Truth be told, we’re both in uncharted territory here.” He leaned back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table as his mouth ballooned with a yawn. His eyelids had begun to flicker, almost as if he was falling asleep… “Usually when a kid pops up on my radar, it’s because of a talent so finely honed it colours every aspect of their life. They’re chefs, swimmers, gymnasts, journalists, and archers, hell, even when there’s overlap it’s pretty easy to sort out which talent matters to them more, and in a fix we can always take whatever’s harder to find. But no matter what name **_you_** take, you’re **_new_** , in one way or another. And not just because one of the only files we’ve managed to dig up on you is a missing person’s report.”

Double rats. He knew about that? Of **_course_ **he knew about that. “...You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

“If it’s the police you’re worried about, we can take care of them. But we’ll need your parent or guardian’s permission before we accept you, underneath all the prestige we still function just like any other school...at our core.” Another yawn. Confusion etched itself into his features. “Man, I’m beat.”

“ _It’s time_.” 

I hopped off the bed and set to work pacing tracks into the filthy motel carpet. “Gee...that’s quite an offer!” I gushed like a starstruck teen, laying it on thick with a plaster smile and sticker star eyes. “It’s like a fairy tale! A common street rat like me, whisked away to one of the best schools in the country, the **_world_ ** even! It’s more than I ever could have **_dared_ **to dream of…” I paused, head tilted in a sweet display of concern as yet another yawn sent a shudder through the scout’s body. “Uh-oh. Are you ok? Feeling sluggish? I bet some fresh air would do you good!”

Kizakura nodded with as much gusto as he could muster. “Yeah...good idea,” he murmured, his words slurred in a jumble of noise as he staggered to his feet, and I, kind-hearted as ever, padded up to his side, batted open the shutters and cracked open the window. He pushed it wide. I pushed it wider...wider...wider...until it hung ajar like a snake’s disjointed maw. Perfect.

“Hey, Kizakura?” I said, and maybe I would’ve been startled by the lack of remorse in my voice if it wasn’t for how intent I’d become on placing my hands against **_just_ **the right points on his back. “You’ll be able to sleep off the Rophenol in 12 hours, tops. Get some rest, drink some fluids, and please know that I’m really, really sorry about this.”

And then I pushed him out the window.

A mattress broke his fall, of course. I’m not a monster! No, I prefer the term...appreciative of the idea that all’s fair in love and war, and when it comes to war, there’s nothing wrong with making a hasty retreat armed with a suitcase full of Rophenol and lottery money, letting your opponent come to grips with their loss in a dumpster while you hop the next bus to Enoshima.

One little setback didn't matter, right?  
Someday, somehow, something **_still_ ** had to give  
…  
Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter taking so long! Between vacation, illness, university prep, and a broken pair of glasses, it's been quite the month. Going forward, chapters will become shorter in order to get them out quicker, that being said I can't promise a steady schedule other than "as frequent as physically possible". Hopefully I'll be able to find a steady rhythm once I get used to university! And one last thing, I can promise that no matter how long it might take to update, this fic will not be abandoned. Oh no, I've spent MUCH too long planning and putting off publishing chapters for that. So until next time!
> 
> -TheHartProject
> 
> PS. I'm so sorry if you expected Kokichi. I mean I'm not because it's funny, but you get it.


	8. Housekeeping

Hello! TheHartProject here with a quick update, seeing how it's been so long.

First things first, no, this fic **_isn't_ **abandoned. I've been chipping away at it behind the scenes, but certain events have made it difficult to really buckle down and pump out content. University exam season is the main culprit, but even then, the fact of the matter is that I haven't touched the WIP of the current chapter in so long that it's been immensely difficult to jump back into it. I truly am hoping to get a new chapter out before the break ends, which would mean sometime next week, but I can't make promises. This fic is so long and complicated that a lot of plotting still needs to be done. Despite knowing exactly what happens, I still haven't written it down, which is, uh, **_a little important_** , especially with so many characters to juggle.

On a related note, this plotting has opened up some new possibilities, namely the fact that I've expanded so much on the Danganronpa universe that, if I wanted to, with a bit of work I could morph Fictional Reality into an original project. This is...tempting. Honestly, I don't think I'm going to take this route, at least not yet. I already have a small audience to work with. The dr fanbase isn't what it used to be, and even if it was, demand for original characters and plots is small, and what little interest that exists is taken up by fangans with visual aspects such as comics, or those made by more prominent members of the community. And that's fair, I understand that I haven't really figured out how to get this little project "out there", so the lack of attention is completely on me. Still, I'm in no rush to completely ditch the benefits of creating for a pre-established community. Maybe one day, but not today. And yes, this is hinting that there is a Fictional Reality "extended universe". 

There's one other important update. Due to certain circumstances (the details of which it would be highly inappropriate of me to share), the character of Felix, the Ultimate Guitarist, has been changed. His name is now Shuto, and he is the Ultimate Pyrotechnician. His appearance and personality will remain the same, as well as his general "niche" or purpose in the story. I understand that this is confusing and unprofessional, but I promise, this is something that had to be done. 

Alongside this, small edits have been made to the story. It's nothing major enough that it now needs to be re-read, it's just a couple touch-ups to some clunky writing that's been bothering me, as well as some elaboration on Sylvia's internal beliefs and her perception of Ultimates as a whole that I felt I hadn't been clear enough with previously, which will become obvious in the near future. 

In sum, this fic is not abandoned by a long shot, and there will be future updates as soon as possible. Felix, the Ultimate Guitarist, is now Shuto, the Ultimate Pyrotechnician, and I would appreciate it if no one asked for the reason behind this decision. There have been minor updates to past chapters, but nothing extremely detrimental to one's understanding of the story (though I might recommend at least re-reading the last Chapter, Under New Management). Thank you so, so much for your interest in this story, it really means the world to me. I can only hope that future content makes the wait worthwhile, and I will do my best to make sure that happens.

Until next time,  
TheHartProject

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated on a rather irregular basis given that I am currently beginning my studies, ranging from once a month to every 2-3 weeks, with a brief hiatus in-between trials. Once the fic is really rolling, I hope to start a second "fic" detailing smaller events that occur behind-the-scenes, which will be found under this account, along with a series of "Free Time Events". At any time, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts, reactions, or questions either here, or if you'd rather, you can direct them to my tumblr @strawberrah. I hope to see you then!
> 
> -TheHartProject


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